#‘take your glasses off and look at something 20 feet away’ I cannot do that my good sir | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whats-her-quirk · 4 years ago

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Regulars

erwin smith x reader 18+ warnings: explicit content, big hand kink vibes, praise, fingering, oral, face riding (because it’s erwin and I have no self control), overstim, squirting (it’s as close as I could get to pizz for you), a touch of cum eating, creampie, some age kink, & authority kink for good measure wc: 13k (I’m so fucking sorry) a/n: Words cannot contain the joy I felt when I learned that @present-mel was my elf for our server’s secret santa. I knew I had to write you some aot goodness, and because I wanted this to be all indulgence with no angst involved, I went straight for the commander and a good old-fashioned coffeeshop AU. Mel, you know that I adore you. Get comfy because this is a long one.

With a soapy rag draped over your hand, you wash off the tables in the coffeeshop just like you did the day before. You clean mugs and teacups, pour cups of black coffee and whip up iced mochas, take money and give change, all just like yesterday and the yesterday before that. Even as the morning rush is about to really start, today will be more of the same.

You’ve been working at Scout Coffee for close to four years since you graduated from the university a few miles away. Unfortunately, choosing a major had been a struggle for you, and your Bachelor of Science hadn’t led to any promising job prospects that didn’t come with huge drawbacks—shitty hours, shitty pay, shitty bosses, the lot. So instead of sitting in a call center or manning the front desk of some office building all day, you landed at the coffeeshop, which turned out to be a pretty decent place to land.

You like being a barista; you really do. You enjoy learning to make different coffees and breakfast sandwiches (your friends are very impressed with the way you froth milk for them, even at home). You enjoy the hip atmosphere of Scout, with its mismatched tables and walls covered in vintage posters. You love picking the music that pumps quietly through the speakers just above the counter. And you even enjoy making conversation with customers, many of which are regulars you know by name at this point. You feel comfortable here, and you’ve become close with many of your coworkers.

Still, you’re getting a little bored, a little restless. You’re perfectly happy, but the monotony of spending 40-plus hours per week within the same four walls is starting to get old. Your life is a cycle of work, reading, video games, and sleep. You meet up with your friends weekly for DND, but lately, you haven’t felt up to much more socializing than that. Between your bills and student loans, you can’t afford the vacation you desperately need, so instead, you lean your elbows on top of the dessert case and sigh, wishing something interesting would happen—something to shake things up a little bit.

The bell above the door jingles, and you don’t even look up, lost in your daydream of two weeks off and a trip to anywhere. It isn’t until Petra, who’s opening with you this Monday morning, nudges you with her elbow that you lift your eyes from the platters of scones and cookies under you.

“Ook-lay what just walked in-way,” she says in pig latin instead of just whispering like a normal person. You elbow her back for being so obvious as you lift your chin from the glass, but your mouth pops open when you catch sight of the man approaching the counter—a drop-dead gorgeous man.

He’s at least six feet tall, broad-shouldered and fair-skinned. He’s dressed in an expensive-looking blue suit with a tie, and his blonde undercut is styled flawlessly. His face is so perfect you barely even register what he looks like; you just know he’s too pretty to look directly in the eye. As he steps up to the register to put in his order, your feet feel like they’re superglued to the floor. Petra takes his order for a Colombian dark roast coffee you currently have available. He pays with a black credit card, which she swipes through the terminal while you stare. He adds a 20% tip on the touchpad even though he only ordered a single coffee.

Not only is this guy incredibly handsome in a way you can’t quite put your finger on, but more importantly, you’ve never seen him before. You start to wonder whether you manifested him by pure thought as Petra hands him his receipt and assures him that his drink will be out in just a few minutes.

He takes a seat at an empty table by the window as Petra grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you back into consciousness. “Hurry up and pour his drink. We can’t keep a guy that hot waiting!”

You force yourself to blink before fumbling for a coffee mug and pouring him a steaming cup of the dark roast from the coffee urn. Your hands shake dangerously, clinking the saucer under the mug embarrassingly as you deliver it to his table. He looks up, smiling closed lipped yet warmly when you set it in front of him. His eyes are so blue, they practically sparkle in the sunlight from the window. Sparkle.

As he looks at you expectantly, you manage to choke out, “Uh, s-sugar and honey and stuff are over there.” You point toward the little side counter where you keep the sweeteners and napkins.

The man lifts the mug toward his mouth by the handle. “Thank you.” He blows at the steam wafting off the hot coffee, his eyes flicking down into the mug, platinum eyelashes fluttering slightly. He takes an experimental sip, testing the flavor, before pushing back his chair and getting up. “I think I’ll take you up on that sugar and honey.”

You nod and swallow what feels like a ball of tin foil caught in your throat. He grins at you before carefully taking his mug over to the sweeteners. As soon as his back is turned, you rush back behind the counter. Petra is waiting for you with a huge smile on her face. You mouth to her, “Oh my god.”

“I know,” she gushes because she does know exactly what you’re thinking. “Holy shit, that might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He looks like a Greek god. I just wanna tackle him.”

“You’re in a relationship,” you remind her.

“Yes, but if I weren’t, I’m telling you I’d climb that like a tree. But since I can’t, you have to.”

You cackle so hard and so suddenly you almost fall over. You? Have a chance with that guy? “Good one.”

She pouts, leaning her back on the dessert case so you can just see the customer behind her. He’s pulled a book out of his leather messenger bag and reads it while he sips his coffee. Your heart does a flip. “I’m serious. You haven’t dated anyone in how long again?”

You don’t even want to say, so you ignore the question. “Look, you can tell by the way he’s dressed that he doesn’t even work in this part of town. After today, we’ll probably never see him again. So let’s just enjoy the view while it lasts and then forget this ever happened, hm?” You say it lightly, cheekily, teasing Petra until she rolls her eyes and returns to the register to help the next customer as a line starts to form.

Forgetting, however, proves impossible. Even as you’re dashing back and forth for ingredients, making multiple drinks at a time to try and move the line along, you can’t stop glancing over at the blonde man sitting in the window. He sits comfortably but with perfect posture, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, occasionally flipping a page in his paperback or taking a drink from his mug. With every spare second, you catch yourself looking at him, scrutinizing his face like it’s a marble statue in a museum.

After an hour, during which you mess up at least three different drinks and have to remake them, you finally figure out what it is that makes him so remarkable. All of his features are strong: heavy brows over large cerulean eyes, sharp aquiline nose with a prominent bridge, pale but pouty lips, especially for a man, and a jawline and cheekbones that could cut glass. They’re all dominant, not just one. On most people, this would be too much, too overwhelming. But on him, his frame, his projected aura of easy confidence, it’s so perfect it hurts if you think about it for long enough.

And when he rises from his seat, places his mug in the wash bin by the trash cans, and walks out the door with his book under his arm, that hurts too. You miss him as soon as he’s gone, which is insane, because you don’t even know his name. You spend the rest of the day in mourning, trying to coax yourself into accepting that you won’t be seeing him again.

It’s all for nothing, though, because around the same time the next morning, he walks in and orders another cup of the same Colombian dark roast.

Petra can’t stop smiling wolfishly at you, but you do your best to hide from her. On one hand, you’re in shock that he came back at all. On the other hand, you’re panicking. If he’s about to become a new regular, you have no idea how you’re going to handle it.

He chooses the same table in the window, which just so happens to be open again. This time, when you deliver his hot mug of coffee, you exchange nothing more than a friendly nod for his polite thanks.

While you whip up double lattes, you notice that he’s still working through the same paperback, albeit much closer to the end than he was yesterday. You crane your neck to try and see the cover, but he has it folded back under his hand in a way that would make you cringe if he didn’t look so damn gorgeous doing it. There’s concentration written in his brows, like he’s completely immersed in the story despite the noise and bustle of the morning rush.

With the breakfast crowd served and happy, you busy yourself bussing tables. You linger near the window, scrubbing the sticky coffee rings off the table next to the blonde. Don’t people know you give them saucers for a reason? Still, you take your time, allowing yourself to glance up at him a few times, admiring the way his angular profile eclipses the morning sun. You don’t realize you’re staring until he looks up from his page for a sip of his drink, catching your gaze with a smirk over the lip of his mug. You inhale sharply through your nose and avert your eyes, mortified that he caught you looking at him. As soon as the table is clean, you make a beeline back to the counter and restock the dessert case in shame.

He polishes off his coffee and the book at almost the same time. Then he busses his own table again, as if you’re not half in love with him already. On his way to the door, he tosses a long glance over his shoulder, and you feel your cheeks heat and flush. As much as you want to watch him leave, you have to look away, coy and embarrassed. You’re being way too obvious, and he’s catching on.

Once your shift is over, you run a few errands, cook some noodles for dinner, and spend the evening playing a hack and slash RPG to take your mind off the beautiful stranger. You resolve that if he comes back again, you’ll stop obsessing. He’s just a customer who happens to be as kind as he is gorgeous, but that doesn’t mean you can act like a fucking teenager. You’re an adult, for christ’s sake. You need to get a grip.

---

Wednesday is Petra’s day off, so the next morning, you’re manning the counter with Moblit, who is sweet but quiet and tends to focus on his work. It would make for a peaceful morning if Levi wasn’t seated at the end of the bar top opposite the counter, complaining.

Levi works the night shift at the hospital, heading up the janitorial staff, and has been coming into the coffee shop since before you even worked there. He’s as much of a fixture in the shop as any of your coworkers. He knows everyone, making him overly blunt and familiar, and he’s always exhausted. He’s also dating Petra, which you aren’t sure how they manage since their schedules and personalities are so opposite. Levi is all doom and gloom while Petra is an energetic ray of sunshine, but hey. They complete each other.

Levi is in rare form this morning, slumped forward on his stool, elbows on the counter and one hand curled like a claw over the top of his teacup. He came straight from work, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to his long, overnight shift. Poor Moblit looks terrified as Levi traps him with his horror stories of all the bodily fluids he had to clean up the night before.

Normally, you’d tap Moblit out, knowing Levi will get pissy if someone doesn’t listen to him, and you’re actually grossly fascinated by his stories from the hospital, if you’re being honest. When you confessed to him that you might want to work in the medical field someday, he gave you what advice he could. Though it didn’t end up changing your employment situation, the two of you grew closer in the process as Levi stepped into the role of the wise older brother figure.

Moblit looks like he wants your help, but today, you’re sticking to the register, watching the door like a hawk to see if a certain tall blonde is going to walk in.

Your resolve to stop obsessing was crushed the moment you woke up from a literal dream about the mystery man. It was nothing overtly sexual, but you dreamt that you were lying on a picnic blanket in the park, and he was feeding you strawberries and reading aloud to you from another worn paperback. The ache in your chest when you awoke was crushing, the scene fading into the abyss of sleep before you could really wrap your head around it. While it wasn’t out of the ordinary for some of your customers to appear in your dreams, you’d never dreamt about one in such a romantic fashion before.

But what did it mean? How could you tell the difference between pure infatuation and love at first sight? And were you crazy for even considering it?

“Hey, moron, you’re staring,” Levi deadpans from the other end of the counter. You shake your head, refocusing your eyes on him instead of the door. When you look his way, Levi lifts his mug, signaling that he’s ready for a refill.

“Sorry,” you mutter, shuffling to grab the pot of Earl Grey you made for him, knowing he’d drink three or four cups before heading out.

“What’s up with you?” he asks once his cup is full again.

“Oh nothing, nothing,” you reply, breathy and dismissive.

“Bullshit. Something’s up and I know it. Now spill.” He narrows his eyes at you over the top of his mug as he takes a long sip. His gaze is so pointed, you’re ready to break down and confess everything about your silly crush.

“It’s just—”

The bell on the door jingles as you’re setting down the teapot, and you look up so quickly that tea sloshes out onto the floor. It’s him.

“What?” Levi groans, looking over his shoulder at the stranger approaching from behind. You ignore him completely, smoothing down your apron and situating yourself in a way that you hope looks casual behind the cash register. You also hope that Levi doesn’t say anything embarrassing, but you’re not holding your breath, because his people skills are not the best.

The blonde smiles when he sees you at the register, and you swear you can feel your heart flip over inside your chest. “Hello again,” he greets in that lovely baritone of his. Meanwhile, your throat feels dry and sticky.

“Uh, hi again,” you echo, unable to find your own words. Your mouth is open, and you were hoping this would go better without Petra there, but alarm bells are ringing in your brain. You’re panicking. You finally squeak out, “So, the usual?” You wish it was a full sentence, but at least it’s a coherent thought.

He chuckles, perhaps delighted that you remember, but oh, how could you ever forget? He opens his wallet and replies, “Seems I’m becoming a regular.”

“Mmhmm.” The sound reverberates behind your closed lips as you punch in his order and swipe his card through the reader. Stupid, stupid, you curse yourself mentally, but you can’t find the right words when his face is distracting you. You hand the card back and mercifully, he speaks before you can

“I can just wait here while you pour it. You don’t have to carry it all the way over t

Your cheeks burn, flustered by his willingness to oblige. If only he were an asshole, then you wouldn’t care that he was so damn handsome.

You turn your back and pour the dark roast into a mug, place a saucer and spoon underneath, and set it down on the counter in front of him. “Thanks,” he says with a simple grin before heading off to add his sugar and honey. Your heart is pounding by the time he walks away, and you press a shaking hand to your chest, hoping to calm it. Too bad you don’t have time to before Levi chimes in.

“Wow, that was almost painful.” By the time you whip your head around to glare at him, he’s already looking straight down into his tea as he takes another sip.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” For all their differences, Levi is about as subtle as Petra, which isn’t saying much. You just hope he keeps the volume down, whatever he’s going to say.

Levi shrugs as he sets down his drink. “So, you like that guy?”

You fiddle with your hands. It’s not worth lying to him at this point, he already knows. “So it’s that obvious?”

“Tch.” He rolls his eyes. “I mean I guess I’d be surprised if you weren’t. He’s hot.”

“Oh my god. First Petra and now you.”

“I can’t blame her, really.” He’s so matter of fact, it makes you wonder if he’s ever been jealous, ever felt insecure when it comes to his love life. Probably not. With Levi, what you see is exactly what you get.

With a defeated sigh, your head and elbows spill onto the counter in front of him. There’s something about his nonchalance that makes everything come tumbling out of you. “He came in for the first time on Monday, and I haven’t stopped thinking about him since. But I don’t have a chance in hell, do I?”

Levi swallows the last of his tea. “I didn’t say that. Why wouldn’t you have a chance?”

You lift your head, resting your chin in your hands as your eyes wander toward the window. “You saw him. He’s obviously got his shit together, while I definitely do not. And he’s gotta be, what, ten years older than me?” You peel your eyes away, instead surveying the bottles of various flavors of coffee syrup lined up along the wall behind you.

Levi scoffs, then taps you on the arm. You don’t want to face him, but you do. He leans forward, looking you sternly in the eye. “You’re nervous because you don’t know anything about him. You’re idealizing him in your head before you get to know him. Once you break the ice, you’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say, mister no-filter.”

“Hey, I was nervous to ask Petra out the first time. And look how it worked out for me.”

“Yeah, but she’d also been dying for you to ask her out for weeks. And y'all were practically already in love anyway. You knew it was reciprocated.”

“Did you see the way he smiled at you? It’s reciprocated.”

“Fat chance.”

Levi clinks his cup against the counter. “You’ll regret it if you don’t at least try. Just wait a while, then carry a coffee pot over there and ask if he wants a refill. That’s your in. Then ask him about what he’s reading, and you’re golden.”

“I don’t know.” It feels weird taking dating advice from Levi of all people, but you have to admit, he swooped up Petra without a hitch. You shrink into yourself, wrapping your arms around your middle before chancing another peek at the window. He’s reading a different paperback today, you can tell by the size of it. You still can’t see the cover though.

“Hey.” Levi’s voice is a little softer this time, and that catches your attention more than anything. “If you can talk to a scary motherfucker like me, you sure as hell can talk to a guy as nice as him.”

That, you can’t help but smirk at. You punch him halfheartedly in the shoulder. “You’re not as scary as you think.” The eye roll it earns you is incredibly gratifying.

After about twenty minutes, and a little more ribbing from Levi, you fill a handheld coffee pot from the urn of dark roast. No one is waiting at the counter, and Moblit’s on standby in case someone comes in. It’s slow for a Wednesday, and your instrumental playlist is drifting calmly from the overhead speakers. Inside, you’re a hurricane, but you’re going to do this because if nothing else, Levi will never let you forget it if you don’t.

You carry the half-full pot of coffee carefully toward the blonde, rehearsing your line in your head. As you approach him, he looks up from his book, and you promptly forget what you were going to say. You raise the coffee pot to indicate your intent. “Uh, can I warm you up?” He raises an eyebrow. “Your coffee,” you correct hastily. “Can I warm your drink up?”

“Sure.” He shifts the book to his left hand, tucking his thumb inside to mark the page. With his right hand, he lifts his mug by the handle.

You don’t know how it happens. You reach out to pour the piping hot liquid into his mug, but when the plastic lip of the pot touches ceramic, something shifts, and there’s coffee splashing and glass breaking and his chair scraping against the floor as he stands up. There’s a dark coffee stain right on the knee of his tan dress pants, and you wish you could just crawl into a hole and die.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Oh shit. Let me get you some towels.” You probably shouldn’t be cursing in front of a customer you just spilled hot coffee on, but your mouth is moving faster than your brain. You rush back behind the counter as fast as you can without spilling the rest of the coffee on yourself. Moblit is waiting with a roll of paper towels, but you quickly wet a clean washrag in the sink because god damnit, you probably burned him.

You run back to his table, where he’s still standing, surrounded by a puddle of dark roast and the smashed pieces of his mug. He has his hands up like he doesn’t know what to do with them. You feel like you’re going to cry. No, scratch that, you are crying. Horrifically embarrassed, you sniffle as you hold out the wet cloth. “Here, this is cold, for your leg. Oh fuck, I’m so sorry.” You need to stop cursing but you can’t.

You hardly look at him, barely register when he takes the cloth from your hand. You run back for the broom and dustpan, which you snatch from Moblit’s hands, bless his heart. You sweep up the broken glass in a hurry before anyone gets hurt. Oh lord.

“Are you hurt? Did the glass cut you?” This is it. This guy is going to need stitches and he’s gonna sue Scout Coffee for sending him to the ER and ruining his expensive suit. They’re gonna fire you, and you’re going to lose your apartment, and—

He’s laughing. You look up from your broom and dustpan to see that the handsome blonde guy is chuckling to himself. “No, no, I’m fine, really. I’m sorry for making such a mess.”

So he’s not bleeding. “But your leg,” you begin, but he stops you, sounding almost frustrated with himself.

“It wasn’t that hot; it was just what was already cooling off in the mug. But thank you. I’m really sorry for all the trouble.”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, dumbstruck, before you sweep the rest of the glass into the dustpan. “No, it was my fault, I’m sorry.”

He sits down again, dabbing at his pant leg with his left hand while he wiggles the fingers of his right at you. “No, I wasn’t thinking. I hurt my elbow playing tennis years ago, and the nerve damage that acts up sometimes. I’ll completely lose feeling in that hand once in a while, and when it goes numb, I drop things. I should have known better than to hold the mug with one hand, but I didn’t have a bookmark. Stupid of me.”

There’s a lightness to his tone, a jovial self-deprecation that you know he’s putting on to try and cheer you up. But his story is just odd enough that you’re inclined to believe it.

“O-ok. Just give me one sec.” You scurry away to dispose of the broken mug. You pour him another dark roast in a paper to-go cup, add sugar and honey, and bring it back to him along with the roll of paper towels for the rest of the mess.

“Here,” you say, setting the cup down before mopping up the wet floor. Thankfully, the commotion has died down a bit, and people have stopped staring. “And I’ll refund the first cup from your card. Again, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s really ok. I’m just clumsy. Promise.” He turns his wrist a few times and flexes his fingers before extending his hand out to you.

You look at the wad of wet paper towels dripping down your arm and back at him. “Um.” You offer your left hand instead. He chuckles again and you shake left hands, his long, thick fingers dwarfing yours. Closer now than before, you notice for the first time the hint of a few fine lines around his eyes and forehead, the ghosts of many smiles shared over the years.

He nods. “I’m Erwin, by the way.” You offer your name, and he gives your hand a slight squeeze before letting go. Then he gathers his things and tips his paper cup to you. “Thanks for the warm-up.”

Hiding the blush on your cheeks, you walk away to dispose of the paper towels, finding it hard to turn away from Erwin. Levi was right; you were putting this guy on a pedestal in your head. He’s just a guy, not some god. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t still head over heels for him.

Oh no. Levi.

His hands are crossed over his chest, head cocked to the side. “So, how’d it go?” he asks too loudly. You shush him.

“You saw how it went.”

“Yeah. He likes you though.”

“No, he doesn’t.” The realization leaves you a little hollow inside. “I spilled coffee on him. He’s just being nice.”

Levi’s eyes flick over to the register. You follow his gaze to catch Erwin dropping a five-dollar bill—more than enough to cover the coffee you were about to refund—into the tip jar before turning toward the door.

“Yeah,” Levi drawls, leaning back in his seat. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

You turn around so Levi doesn’t see you smile.

Thursday is your day off. You wake up at a leisurely time, find something to eat, and watch a few episodes of the show you’ve been binging before getting ready for the day. You run your errands for the week, but even long lines at the bank can’t get you down today.

That evening after DND, you tell your friends about the coffee incident. When someone asks you if the guy was cute, you think of Erwin’s smile and answer yes.

On Friday, Erwin sees you before you see him. You have your finger on the nozzle of a can of whipped cream, and you’re just finishing off the iced frap you’re making when a shadow falls over the counter in front of you. You swirl the top of the whipped cream before you look up, and there he is.

“Hi.” You’re sure it sounds stupid, but he caught you off guard. Though you can’t say you’re unhappy to see him, not at all. As you let off the tip of the spray can, a bit of whipped cream drips off onto your pointer finger. Without thinking, you raise it to your mouth and lick it off.

Erwin’s clear blue eyes flick down to your mouth and back up to your face. He clears his throat before speaking. “Hi. I uh, missed seeing you here yesterday.”

Realizing that you just put your finger in your mouth, you lean over to the sink to wash your hands. It’s a good thing, because you can feel your face heating up. It happens with some regulars, you remind yourself. They like routine; they like the same person telling them good morning and pouring their coffee every day. But when Erwin says he missed you… you’re not sure how to read it.

You laugh it off because it seems like the only choice. “Yeah, Thursday’s my day off.” He doesn’t seem like the stalkery type, the kind of customer that you shouldn’t tell what shifts you work or what time you get off. Petra had one of those follow her out to her car once, some silver-haired guy that she had to get a restraining order for even after Levi threatened to beat his face in. But you could all tell that guy was going to be an issue as soon as he walked in. Erwin gives off no such vibes.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed it,” he answers sincerely.

“Thanks.” A moment of awkward silence passes between you before you think to ask, “Oh, do you want a cup of the Colombian?”

“Yes, please.”

Instead of taking the coffee to his usual table, which is clean and open, Erwin sits down at the bar top across from the prep counter. He doesn’t pull out a book, either, and the heat around your collar begins to rise. People only sit at the counter if they want to chat, and you’re flattered and flustered by it all at once. To distract yourself, you wipe down the counter again.

“So,” you start casually, remembering what Levi said about Erwin being just a person, “I hope you didn’t have any big meetings the other day after I spilled that coffee all over you.”

Erwin chuckles. “When I spilled the coffee?” You get the sense that this is going to be a point of contention for a while. “Actually, I did, but I keep spare clothes in my office because, like I said, clumsy.” He motions to himself, and though you still have trouble believing someone as chiseled and poised as Erwin could be considered clumsy in general, you have to imagine he’s spent a long time dealing with that old injury of his.

“Does your office have, like, a walk-in closet?” Yes, you’ve noticed over the past week that Erwin’s suits are always neatly pressed, like he gets them dry cleaned. He wears very expensive shoes, and a big silver watch. That’s not a cheap haircut either. Not like you’d ask him directly, but it’s driving you crazy wondering exactly what he does for a living.

Erwin shakes his head as he takes a sip of dark roast. “No, just a regular closet. It does have a pretty great view of downtown, though.”

“Oh yeah? Must be nice having a big, fancy office all to yourself.” You squeeze your lips together. That might have been a little forward of you. Reign it in, tiger.

Erwin remains unphased, though. He actually sounds a little dejected when he says, “Yeah, the view is one of the best parts of the job.”

This makes you quirk an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Erwin chuckles. “I’m being a bit dramatic. It’s not so bad.”

You can’t stand beating around the bush anymore. “So where do you work?”

“Stohess Ad Agency. You’ve probably seen the building, it’s the tower with the bank logo on the top.”

You drop your rag into the sink. When he mentioned the view, you weren’t exactly sure he meant ‘skyscraper,’ but it all seems to add up. “So, you write ads? Any I’ve seen?”

Erwin runs one palm over the back of his neck before wrapping both hands around his steaming coffee mug. His fingers interlock as he lifts it toward his mouth with both hands. “I don’t write them anymore, really.”

You drop a hand on your hip. “So you’re, what, an executive?” You’re not even completely sure you’re using that word right, but you’re pretty it means one of the higher-ups.

Erwin hides his mouth behind the mug as he answers. “CEO,” he says simply, casting his eyes down, away from your face. His voice is quiet, but a smirk plays at the corner of his lip.

You’d be ashamed to admit it, but those three letters go straight between your legs. The power, the authority—it’s very much a turn on. You can imagine him behind a giant desk with his feet up, talking on the phone about getting some reports on his desk first thing in the morning. You also shamefully think about him drawing the venetian blinds closed on the windows of his corner office and bending you over that desk. But you’re getting way, way too ahead of yourself, mainly because Erwin falls silent after that, taking tiny sips of his coffee as his eyes linger anywhere but your face.

You lean your elbows on the counter you just cleaned, meaning you’ll have to wipe it down again, but it brings you below eye level with Erwin, who turns to look down the slope of his nose at you. You grin and ask, hoping to ease whatever this tension might be, “So, is it like Mad Men?”

Erwin cracks, eyes crinkling slightly as he shows his perfect teeth in a smile. He shakes his head. “Not really.”

The conversation meanders as an hour passes. Erwin waits patiently as you help other customers, always ready to pick back up where you left off when you come back. The two you settle into an easy flow of questions and answers, learning little details about each other along the way. You find out that he recently moved to a house in the suburbs, which made his commute to work longer but makes Scout Coffee the easiest play to stop for his morning pick me up on the way.

“Why the move, then?”

Erwin shrugs. “I was tired of my apartment. I don’t mind driving; the car is where I do my best thinking. Plus, I wanted more room for Daisy.”

Your stomach drops. “Daisy?” His wife? No, doesn’t wear a ring. His daughter, maybe?

Erwin reaches for his phone and taps a few times before sliding it across the counter to you. A photo of him and the happiest looking golden retriever you’ve ever seen waits on the screen, and you audibly gasp. This might be the most attractive thing about him yet.

“Oh my gosh, she’s beautiful. How old?”

Erwin takes his phone back and stares at the picture for a moment before sliding it back in his pocket. “She’s six. I rescued her as a puppy right around when I got promoted to VP,” he muses to himself, marking the time in his mind.

“Well, I’m sure she likes the extra room to run around.” Erwin agrees.

You don’t want to pry, but he makes it sound like he moved up the corporate ladder so quickly. It’s a world you understand so little about, never having worked in an office setting. The politics of it all, clawing your way to the top of a big company like that, it’s weirdly fascinating to you. You want to ask more about it, but you don’t want to come across like you’re trying to grill him. You decide to drop it for now, but you don’t want this to end. “Refill?”

“Please,” he says, but he catches sight of his watch as he holds out his mug. “Oh, wow. It’s already 9:00. I should actually get going.”

“I’ll make it to-go.” You’re careful to set the paper cup and sleeve down on the counter instead of passing it to him in the air. Just to be safe.

Erwin gathers his stuff, and you take a moment to appreciate the way the sleeves of his plaid button down are rolled up over his forearms. He’s still wearing khakis and a tie, but it must be casual Friday.

“So, I’m not sure if I’ll make it in this weekend, but…” Erwin lingers at the counter, coffee in hand.

You can’t hide your grin if you wanted to. “See you on Monday. Now go before you’re late!” You wave a nearby hand towel at him, and he laughs.

“I’m already a little late,” he confesses, “but I’m the boss. I can spare a few more minutes for coffee in the morning.” He takes a deep breath, like he wants to say something else, but then he just nods. “See you on Monday.”

He must not think you’re looking when he drops a couple bucks into the tip jar on his way out.

The weekend passes much too slowly. You spend a lot of it reading, some of it working on your next DND character, and the rest of it texting Petra and Levi.

Levi: He was late to work because he was talking to you. Oh yeah, you’re in.

Petra: HE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKES YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

You’re embarrassed but so giddy that you don’t even tell them to stop.

On Monday, Erwin comes in a little later than usual. He misses the rush, so you pour yourself a coffee along with his. He’s dressed to perfection in a sleek, black suit, but his eyes look tired. Still, they light up when he sees you.

“Good morning,” he says in a half-sigh.

“Good morning,” you say. “The usual? Or can I interest you in a blonde roast?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Blonde has more caffeine.”

“Give me the blonde.”

This tired, almost defeated Erwin is something you’ve never seen before, never even imagined, really. He even lets his forehead drop heavily onto the bar top after he sits down. But he’s still here; he still came to get his coffee, and hopefully to see you. You spent all weekend looking forward to seeing him again, and not even his change in mood is enough to put you off. Instead, you look for ways to help.

You add the sugar and honey to his coffee for him and place it on the bar top next to his outstretched hand. “Rise and shine,” you tease lightly, hoping to ease his mood a little. Erwin lifts his head, and though he closes his eyes and massages the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger, a sleepy smile spreads across his lips.

“Thank you,” he says so sincerely, it could make you melt on the spot. As he takes his first sip, you can’t help but imagine him, in pajamas and with his hair a mess, drinking his morning coffee across from you at a spotless kitchen island. It’s a daydream you need to tuck away for later, though.

“Of course. So, what’s up?”

Erwin tells you he was up late the night before, looking over some spreadsheets that one of his employees sent in incredibly late. It’s something to do with financials, far above your understanding of how corporate business works, but mercifully, he only gives you the CliffsNotes version of it. He’s typically good about getting enough sleep, he tells you, but this morning, he’s running on only a few hours, plus he had to take Daisy on a walk, and get ready for a meeting with the board of directors that morning.

“So, you’re the boss, but they’re like, your bosses?”

“Essentially, yes.” Erwin downs the rest of his blonde roast. You refill him without even asking. “So, the caffeine is desperately needed today.”

“I hope it goes well. I’m sure you’ll dazzle them with your… statistics or whatever.”

Erwin smiles gratefully. “Thank you. The quarterly reports look good, which helps make me look good in their eyes. Enough about me, though. How was your weekend?”

“You have time to stay and talk?” You want to make sure you don’t make him late today.

“I’ve got time.”

You tell him that there isn’t much to report, but he’s not satisfied. After pressing you a bit more, you admit, “Well, I spent a good bit of Saturday prepping for the new DND campaign my friends and I are starting this week.”

“DND?”

“Dungeons and Dragons. You know, with the maps and the dice and fighting monsters and stuff.”

“Oh, right. I’ve never tried it. It seems… difficult.”

“Well, the stats and the lore can be really overwhelming, to be honest, but when you break it down, it’s really just using archetypes and prompts to tell a story together, you know?”

When Erwin still looks confused, you explain the basics: creating characters, crawling dungeons, rolling for initiative. By the time you get done with your crash course, he’s nodding along, looking much more enthusiastic than he was when he walked in. You don’t even know how long you’ve been talking when Erwin looks down at his watch. “Sorry, I’m probably boring you to death.

As he gets ready to leave, he tells you, “Not at all. I can tell you’re really passionate about this.” You’ve already made him a to-go cup, which he nods appreciatively. “Thank you so much. This day just got a lot better.”

“It was nothing. See you tomorrow?”

Erwin nods. “Tomorrow.”

On Tuesday, you barely have time to look in Erwin’s direction when he arrives, but he can barely get in the door anyway. There’s a marathon race in the city that ends about a block away, so spectators and runners alike have kept you busy all morning. Petra’s at the register and the line is all the way back to the entrance. Erwin takes his place in it and waits anyway.

When the order for the Colombian crosses the counter to you (Petra graciously drew a little heart on the slip to give you a heads up), you give yourself a moment to greet Erwin before diving back into the next order. He’s able to get a seat at the very end of the bar top, much farther down from where you’re working on drinks. You’re bummed that you can’t even talk to him while you blend iced lattes and froth foam, figuring he’ll leave before the crowd dies down, but an hour later, he’s still sitting there, mug empty and paperback in hand.

You practically collapse on the counter in front of him. “Ok. It’s my turn to be exhausted today,” you say, your voice muffled as your chin comes to rest on your crossed forearms.

“That was quite the rush,” Erwin remarks.

“Please. I want to talk about anything but coffee right now,” you sigh. You lift your eyes to meet his, thankful that he’s still there to help take your mind off things for a moment while Petra grinds more coffee beans in the back.

Erwin thinks for a minute. “Oh. I forgot to mention. I met your friend Levi.” You nearly spit out your drink. A little bit actually dribbles onto your chin, but you hide it with your hand as quickly as you can.

“When?” You panic momentarily, afraid Levi was out stalking Erwin because you physically won’t shut up about him.

“Your day off last week. We ended up chatting for a while.” When you slap your palm over your face, Erwin laughs. “Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me any embarrassing stories about you or anything.”

You roll your eyes. “Still, I hope he behaved himself. He’s not the best with people.”

“I’ll say he was a bit blunt, but friendly enough. He said you’re a big reader.”

If Levi was here, you’d strangle him. Whether or not Erwin asked is irrelevant; Levi taking it upon himself to be your wingman is mortifying, but you try to make the best of it. “Yep. I like the classics, mostly, but I pick up a contemporary novel now and then. How about you?”

Erwin ponders. “I’m a serial rereader. I’m always going back to old favorites.” He flips over the paperback on the counter, The Sun Also Rises by Hemingway.

“It’s a nice feeling, going back to a book and knowing exactly what you’re going to get out of it,” you muse. You draw figure eights with your finger in a ring of condensation left behind on the bar top by someone else’s water glass.

“True,” Erwin says. “But I also find that sometimes, when I come back to something I’ve already read before, in a different stage of life, that it hits me differently now. Do you ever get that?”

You think, trying to find common ground, but— “No, nothing really comes to mind. But I get what you’re saying.”

Erwin snorts, somehow looking incredibly attractive while doing it. “Must be because--” He cuts himself off mid-thought.

“What?” you tease. “What were you going to say?”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Must be because you’re younger than I am.”

It’s the first time either of you has actually brought it up out loud, the age difference between you. You’ve been assuming, based on looks and his career trajectory, that Erwin has a few years on you, but you’re still too shy to ask how many. It seems rude, somehow. Instead, you opt to continue teasing. “I’ll assure you, I have plenty of life experience.”

Erwin smiles fondly. “I’m sure you do.”

On Wednesday, everything changes. You’re scrubbing down tables, just starting to think about how it’s already 9am. Erwin should have been here by now. He didn’t mention any meetings this morning, not that he has to tell you his whole schedule, but you’re starting to worry anyway. What if something happened on his commute? What if you offended him yesterday when you poked him about his age? What if—

The bell above the door jingles, and you hear a chipper dog barking outside. Never one to miss a dog spotting, you look up and your jaw physically drops.

You can tell it’s Erwin purely by his size. Instead of his normal business attire, he’s wearing a black sweat-wicking athletic tee, black running shorts, and bright blue tennis shoes. Unless you were seeing him in profile (because his is so incredibly distinct), you might have to do a double take to recognize his face in a baseball hat and sunglasses. A pair of earbuds dangle around his neck and wrapped around his hand is a red leash with a beautiful golden retriever on the other end. You look back and forth between him and the dog—Daisy, it has to be—until Erwin waves you over with a wide, toothy grin on his face.

You bite your lip and hold up a finger, signaling just a minute before dashing up to the counter. “Hey, Mobs, will you be ok if I step outside for just a second?”

Moblit, who was rearranging the tea bag display beside the register, shoos you away with his hand. “Sure, we’re not busy. Go talk to your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my—”

“Uh huh.” Moblit wears a sly grin on his face. He might not say much, but he’s definitely observant. Plus, Petra probably spilled the beans. So you drop it completely and book it outside.

You barely say hello to Erwin before you’re kneeling on the sidewalk to pet Daisy. “Hi girl! Oh, you’re so sweet,” you coo, absolutely melting under Daisy’s friendly gaze. She leans into your hands, letting you rub her around the ears and fluff up all her beautiful golden fur. It’s not until you get your fill of pets that you look up to Erwin, who is watching you with delight. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He offers his free hand to help you up from the sidewalk, but as he’s pulling you up, his wrist goes slack and you wobble a bit. “Damnit, sorry.”

You shake your head, remembering his nerve trouble. “Don’t worry about it.” You look back to Daisy, unable to keep your hand from stroking the top of her head. She’s incredibly well-behaved, a perfect lady despite the people passing by on the sidewalk. “Oh my god, I love her. Hey, I was wondering, did you name her after Daisy Buchanan?”

Erwin smiles. “You caught me. I’m a big Fitzgerald fan.”

You shrug. “Me too.” Selfishly, you take a moment to let your eyes rake over him. You’ve never seen him like this before. His shirt is tight, showing off every bulge and curve of his toned upper body, from his pecs to his traps. It’s clear he takes incredible care of himself, and what you wouldn’t give to sink your teeth into that muscle. You caught an eyeful of his calf muscles as you knelt to pet Daisy, and his legs don’t disappoint either. But finally, when Erwin takes a few steps to the side to let someone carrying a large box down the street through, you notice a hint of his dick imprint through the swishy material of his shorts. Naughty, lustful thoughts hit you like a freight train—appropriate, because all you can think about now is letting Erwin rail you. The feeling burns brightly between your legs before the sensation passes.

You clear your throat. “So, what’s the deal? You and Daisy playing hooky today?”

Erwin rubs the back of his neck. “Actually, I decided to take a few personal days now that the review with the board is over. They’ll survive without me for a bit, I hope.”

“That’s great.” Erwin has seemed a bit overworked, so you’re glad to hear he’s taking a little break for himself. Just about every time he mentioned his work, he sounded burnt out, now that you think about it. But that begs another question. “So, did you come by for a coffee, or…”

“Um, no, actually.” Erwin fidgets with Daisy’s leash. “I’m taking her to the dog park so I can’t actually stay, but I wanted to come by…” Erwin pauses, and you forget to breathe. Is he really…?

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out for something other than coffee.” His face remains calm, but he bounces the toe of his tennis shoe against the pavement. “Could I take you to dinner tonight? Tomorrow is your day off, right?”

Your mouth opens but no sound comes out. You’re sure you look insane, blinking at him with a surprised look on your face until finally, you say, “Yes. I’d love that.”

Erwin smiles and then fishes in his pocket for his phone. “Here, uh, put your number in. I’ll text you for your address and pick you up. How about 8:00?”

You get off at 4, which leaves plenty of time for you to run home, shower, and find something decent to wear. “Sounds great.” You punch in your number and hand the phone back to him.

“Ok.” He looks as surprised as you feel. “Ok, well, I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.”

When Erwin arrives to pick you up in a black Mercedes, you refuse to believe it’s actually him at first. In the back of your mind, you catch yourself thinking about it often: Erwin has money, but you’d like him even if he didn’t. It takes no convincing, no doubt in your mind at all, but you never want to come across like you’re just interested in that. Once you text him to confirm that yes, that is him parked in front of your apartment building, you check yourself in the mirror one final time before grabbing your bag and heading out to meet him.

As you plop down in the front seat, it’s still as if you’re surprised to see him there. You’re so used to only seeing him in the mornings and when you’re working, it feels like you’ve stepped through the looking glass as you take him in against the plush leather interior. He looks positively gorgeous in an army green henley that accents his broad chest and dark jeans—you didn’t even know the man owned jeans.

“You look nice,” he compliments as he pulls away from the curb. Compared to him, you don’t feel like you could ever measure up, even though you chose an outfit you love, but you accept the compliment graciously anyway.

The drive is short; once Erwin got your address, he suggested a restaurant not far from your neighborhood. It’s a tapas place with a bar that he says is great, but you’ve never been there before. When you Googled the place to see how fancy you needed to dress, you remembered why: the cocktails cost as much as you’d pay for your whole dinner somewhere else. Still, when the two of you step inside, you’re charmed by the low lighting and jazz music that sets the mood.

It’s a seat-yourself deal, so you follow Erwin to a tall bistro table with two stools, putting a little distance between yourselves and the noisy bar. As you trail behind him, you can’t help but admire how incredible his ass looks in his jeans. Your stomach drops in anticipation, wondering where this night is going to go before you take a deep breath and try not to get ahead of yourself.

He helps you up onto the tall stool like an absolute gentleman before taking his place across from you. He slides a menu your way. “So, the idea here is sort of that you order to share, but if you’d rather have your own entree—”

“I’m fine sharing.” There’s something very sweet and cozy about the idea of splitting appetizers like a real couple. The thought strikes you with momentary panic, oh god, you thought this was a date, but what if he didn’t—

“I hope this isn’t too much for a first date,” Erwin says, a soft look in his eyes. “I just thought you might like this place.”

You exhale. “It was a perfect choice.”

A server approaches your table before there’s time to flirt any more, and you put in your drink and food order at the same time, since you opted for a late dinner. You’re grateful, even though you don’t want to admit that you’re starving. You order your favorite drink but let Erwin take the lead and pick the appetizers. You’re a little overwhelmed by the menu because everything sounds so good. He picks three plates, and it’s not long before the server returns with everything and you dig in.

“So, how was the dog park?” By now, it’s pretty easy for you to make conversation with Erwin without it feeling forced. All those mornings spent chatting have really put you at ease around him, although you have to admit that tonight feels a lot different. For one thing, you’re not working, and you can put your full attention into him instead of making coffees. Now that you don’t have to do anything but enjoy his company while you talk, you find it hard to look away.

“Good, really good. It’s worth the drive into the city, and Daisy really likes it. Hopefully I tired her out enough that she doesn’t destroy the house while I’m gone.” The shadows from the neon lights scattered across the wall throw pretty shadows across Erwin’s nose and mouth as he speaks.

“A great start to your vacation, huh?”

Erwin tips back his whiskey sour. “Yes. It’s sorely needed, I have to say.”

You wonder if it’s the right time to ask, to test the waters without prying. Even though you’re in public, something about sitting in the dark makes it feel like you’re the only two people here, like it’s safe to bring things out into the open that you wouldn’t normally talk to him about. So you decide it can’t hurt just to ask. “Is it stressful, your job?”

Erwin lets his chin drop forward, eyes cast down at the table. He considers his words carefully before he answers, it appears. “Very.” He says it with a smile, but one that covers a hint of hurt just below the surface. He finishes his drink before he goes on. “It’s funny. I started as an assistant at the agency right out of college, and after I got my first promotion, I thought I had it made. I started climbing the corporate ladder, and the next thing I knew, I was on top of it. I wasn’t doing the legwork anymore, the creative work of advertising. Instead, I was making sure everyone else did their job and sitting in meetings all day. It’s exactly what I thought I wanted,” he confesses, “and now I’m always wishing I had done something else.”

Without thinking, you reach out across the table, letting your fingertips bump against his. You thought maybe it had just been a rough few weeks. But as pained as you feel for him, you’re also touched that he’d be so open with you. “Something else like what?”

One side of his mouth pulls up in a grin as he looks up at you. “It’s silly, but I minored in English Lit. I always kind of wanted to write the next great American novel. But that’s just… a dream, I guess.”

You shrug. “You could totally write a novel if you wanted to.”

“I’m 38, you know. I think it might be a bit too late for me to head down a whole new career path.”

Your guess wasn’t far off, but even though he has more than a decade on you, it doesn’t really change how you see him. “Ah yes, you’re practically an old man.”

Erwin laughs. “Talk to me when you’re almost 40 and tell me that’s not how it feels.”

You slide your fingers farther between his on the table, and you feel his hand twitch against yours, but he doesn’t pull away. “Seriously. I know I’m only 25 and dumb, but I don’t see why you can’t write if that’s what would make you happy.”

“You’re not dumb at all,” Erwin says softly, locking his fingers into the gaps between yours. He stares down where your hands are joined. “I like you a lot,” he says out of nowhere, and you feel your cheeks tingle. “To be honest, I was worried I was too old for you to be interested in me, you know, romantically.”

He’s trying to kill you; he really must be. Your heart flutters as you blurt out, “Hell no.” Erwin looks up suddenly, eyes wide. You reach for your drink with your free hand, but you can barely get a sip down before the two of you erupt into laughter together. You’re embarrassed, but also not, because it’s Erwin.

“Good to know,” he replies.

You work your way through the appetizers and a few more cocktails, conversation flowing easily throughout the night. He tells you a little more about his job, and you talk a bit about college, realizing that you both graduated from the same university in the city, just a few years apart.

“What if I was a little older or you were a little younger? Do you think this would have happened if we met back then?” You’re feeling warm and loose from the alcohol, but completely comfortable in Erwin’s presence. He’s pulled his chair around the side of the table to sit closer to you, leaning in as he listens intently.

“I think so. I was a little more uptight back then, but you were probably just as sweet, as passionate.” Erwin looks surprised when you click your tongue at him. “What?”

“I’m not really passionate about anything that really matters. After I couldn’t get a job in my field, I kind of just got content at the coffee shop. Not that I don’t like it there but… I’m not sure if it’s my dream job, you know? Like, do I want to do that forever? I just don’t know. I wish I at least had a plan.”

Erwin’s shoulder brushes yours, and maybe it’s the whiskey or maybe it’s not, but he leans in and kisses the side of your head, just above your ear. “Well, you can take it from me that your career isn’t everything. I think you care more about coffee than you think, but you also care about books and video games and DND and your friends. You should keep those things close, believe me. That’s the stuff that will make you happy.”

You close your hand around his again, the urge coming over you to make a move. You decide you’re done fighting it. “And what makes you happy?” you ask.

Erwin smiles slyly, then he takes the bait. “You.” He squeezes your hand as he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips with his in a soft kiss that almost makes you forget who and where you are. Nothing matters but the sharp taste of him as he presses his tongue against you, parting your lips to lick into your mouth. You don’t care who’s watching. You want him, and you want him now.

Erwin closes out his tab in a rush before leading you out to his car. As soon as he unlocks the doors, your knees hit the leather seat, and you lean over the center console to take his chin in your hands, guiding him back to your lips for more. You feel his breath on your face between every searing kiss until you capture his plump bottom lip between your teeth. You hold him there and suck hard, winning a desperate little pant from him. For a moment, you open your eyes, eager to see his face this close to yours. He’s just as beautiful up close.

You hate to break away from him, but you need more from him than you’re able to get in the front seat of his car. “Your place?” you pant against his mouth, mid-kiss.

Erwin pulls back, breathing just as hard as you are. His pupils are dilated, searching your face wildly—for what, you don’t know. “Yours is closer.”

As badly as you want to see where he lives, he’s so desperate that you would have let him take you in the bathroom of the restaurant if it came to that. He doesn’t want to wait, and you don’t either. With heat pulsing between your thighs, you agree and give him directions back to your building.

The second your door is locked behind the both of you, he pushes you up against it, pinning you under him easily. His huge frame covers all of you as he showers you with sloppy kisses that trail slowly off your lips and down to your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. He bites down hard on that shoulder, making you gasp and kick the door with your heel. You can feel your panties getting damp already, but you’re not even ashamed. His jeans leave little to the imagination.

You push against Erwin’s chest until he backs up, and you go straight for his belt buckle. He pulls his shirt up over his head as you fumble with the metal. The pads of Erwin’s fingers slide deftly under the hem of your shirt, brushing against the skin he finds underneath, making you shiver. As he slides his palms around to your lower back, pressing your hips forward toward his own, you lean back and rip the soft material of your blouse up, tossing it aside.

You leave a trail of clothes in your wake as you drag him to your bed, stopping every few steps to kiss again, to touch a newly revealed bit of skin, to press your body against his and feel him against you. You practically fall into bed with him kneeling over you, bulge growing in his gray boxer briefs. Of course he’s as attractive naked as he is fully clothed.

Erwin bites his lip as he teases at your inner thighs with his right hand, anchoring himself against the mattress with his left. His touch is feather-soft over your clothed core, and your back arches into his fingers as your head falls to the side. “Is this ok?” he asks, petting you lightly over your panties, surely feeling how wet you are for him already.

“Mmhmm.” Your eyes flutter closed and you press your lips together as Erwin pushes a little harder against you and rubs up and down your folds from end to end. Each time he comes close to your clit, you can’t help but whine for him, pretty little squeaks that have his thighs tensing on either side of your knees. Finally, after what feels like ages of teasing, you lift your hips as his middle finger catches on your sensitive bud, and Erwin mercifully digs in a little more and switches to a circular motion that has you writhing against him.

“God, yes, it feels so good, Erwin,” you whimper as your body starts to shake uncontrollably. He groans when he hears you say his name, and you feel his cock twitch where it’s pressed stiffly against your thigh. Your eyes roll back in your head; you can already feel how big he is, but you hardly have time to think about it before Erwin slows his fingers to a stop. You whine again at the loss of friction only to moan as he pulls your panties down your legs. You kick at them until they end up on the floor somewhere.

Erwin moves to your side just long enough to open your legs up wider, then situates himself between them, his own knees open wide to keep you spread and keep him balanced. He hunches over you, and you grab him by the shoulders as his fingers find your bare cunt, slippery and trembling for him. He runs two fingers between your folds, making lewd squelching noises as he coats his fingers in your slick.

“You’re so wet, it’s amazing.” His voice is breathy and low as he praises you, his words going straight to your aching pussy before his fingers follow. You’re wet enough for him to start with two fingers, and you feel each knuckle pass inside your little hole as Erwin groans with pleasure. “You take me so well. So well, angel.” He pumps those thick fingers in and out of you as you roll your hips, legs squeezing against where he holds you open.

A chorus of oh’s and ah’s tumble past your lips, your own voice out of control with how good Erwin’s fingers feel curling inside you. Every drag rubs against your hole as he plunges in and out. He stretches you slowly before adding a third finger that has you mewling and throwing your head back against your pillow. Your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders as you cry out, then you feel the rough pad of Erwin’s left thumb against your bottom lip. You kiss against it as he presses the finger into your mouth, and you feel him from both ends at once.

“Suck,” he instructs you, and you comply without resistance, wrapping your tongue around his thumb and sucking in. Erwin heaves a shuddering breath. “Good girl. Such a good girl.”

Your eyes open in a flash, and before you can warn him, you cum hard onto his fingers. He fucks you through your high, fighting against your cunt that’s clenching so hard around him. You feel like it’ll never end until he pulls his hands back with a hiss. Erwin holds his right wrist in his left and rolls it, lips pressed hard together.

As soon as you catch your breath, you ask, “Is your hand ok?”

“I’m fine,” he pants. “I just need a minute.” Though his hand must have gone numb, he doesn’t look all that concerned once the initial pain passes. He flops down on his side next to you and takes your hip in his good hand, rolling you over on top of him. “Please, sit on my face, angel. I wanna taste you before I fuck you.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You shift together until he’s in the middle of your bed, so tall his feet almost dangle off the end. With your hands on your headboard, you spread your legs and lower yourself over him. You’re still feeling the dull aftershocks from his fingers, so you barely register any embarrassment as he gazes into your pussy before craning his neck up to taste you, just like he wanted.

Using the headboard as leverage, you rise and fall, slowly bouncing on your knees as Erwin explores you with his tongue. His mouth is unbelievably hot, in temperature and fervor, as you ride his face within an inch of your life. Erwin’s tongue jabs at your tightness, digging inside you as far as he can until he needs to come back for air. His lips wrap around your cunt as you lift up, slurping your wetness so lewdly you can’t help but moan as you grind down again and again.

You build to your second high almost impossibly fast, overwhelmed by his prowess as he thoroughly eats you out. As you feel yourself getting closer, you press your body forward, breasts squished up against your headboard, and then you feel it: the sharp ridge of his nose nudging against your clit. You bounce faster, unable to resist the friction of it against your most sensitive zone. You call out his name again, warning him of what he’s doing to you.

One of Erwin’s hands slides up between your legs, two fingers dipping inside you again as he licks ragged strokes against your cunt. It’s muffled but you hear him beneath you, pleading for you. “Come on baby. Can you squirt for me? I know you can. Please, I want you to make a mess. You can do it.” His fingers thrust so quickly you can’t speak, and when he closes his lips around your bud and sucks hard, you explode. You feel a gush of liquid rush from between your thighs—something you’ve only been able to do a few times before. You can’t hold in the scream that accompanies it, and you squeeze your thighs together, skin sliding against Erwin’s now dripping face.

As the shock dies down, Erwin slides out from underneath you, bringing your soaked pillow with him. He tosses it to the side as you settle back down onto the mattress and draw air desperately back into your lungs. He finds a shirt on the floor to wipe his nose and chin on before you see him push down his waistband and step out of his underwear. Your mouth waters as soon as you get a good look at his size: he’s big all around, long and thick with a pretty vein twisting up the underside of his shaft.

His breaths are heavy as he pumps himself lazily, looking down at you with glazed over eyes. “One more, baby? Can you give me one more while I fuck you?”

You nod madly. You can’t find the words for how badly you want him inside you.

“You’re so good for me. Condom?”

“I’m on birth control. Are you clean?” He assures you that he is, and you believe him. “Then forget it and fuck me.”

Erwin groans and lets his knees fall to the mattress again. You scoot down toward him, all your movements clumsy and desperate. When you reach out for him, Erwin’s hands go soft against your thighs, and he melts into you, leaning down for a series of lingering kisses that take your breath away. When he rises again, he finds the backs of your knees and pushes upward, spreading your legs back and out, leaving you incredibly open for him. “Ready, angel?”

“Please, Erwin.”

He moans, fingers twitching against your legs. He tilts his hips so that just the tip of his cock teases against your overstimulated pussy, but it feels so good, so right even though it almost hurts. You clench instinctively, trying to pull him in, and a few seconds later, you feel him enter you with a shallow rocking of his hips.

Adrenaline rushes through you, and you make sounds you’ve never even heard before as he pushes a little farther inside you with each thrust. Erwin is panting so hard, you can feel his breath on your face even as he hovers above you, pressing down on your legs with those incredible hands of his. At this angle, not only can you feel his platinum pubes brushing against you as he finally bottoms out, but you can see them where the two of you are joined.

He holds still, shuddering and groaning as you squeeze around him; he’s so big you have no choice. It feels like you’re splitting down the middle as he stretches you to your limit, but your fucked-out mind needs, craves the pain. When you can’t stand it anymore, you whine and kick your feet to let him know you’re ready, and Erwin begins to move again.

Erwin lets his jaw hang open and his eyes flutter as he hammers into you, his strokes slow and deliberate. You feel that vein dragging against your inner wall every time he pulls out and slams back in, but it’s the one lifeline reminding you that this is real. This is really happening; you’re not just dreaming about it anymore. Erwin is yours, and you’re glad to let him take you.

Blunt nails dig into your hips as Erwin increases his tempo, huffing as he tries to talk you through it. “You feel so good… You take me beautifully... better than anyone.” He pauses to groan and you swear you feel his cock pulsing inside you. Everything below your hips is so wet, he glides in and out of you despite his massive size. Eventually, his sweaty forehead falls against yours, his body effectively folding you in half, and you scream.

His pace is brutal, building to something you’re not sure you can handle but you want all the same. Every few thrusts, he points his hips a slightly different way until he finds your cervix and taps against it. You can feel that familiar twisting in your gut, the intense tightness that makes you feel a little bit like you’re not going to make it. You squeeze as hard as you can, and apparently Erwin notices, because he asks a little too loudly, “Are you close?”

“Yes.” Your eyes are screwed shut. You can’t feel your legs. Erwin pushes himself back up and reaches down between you, finding your abused bud once more and rubbing those quick circles he must know will make you lose control.

Just before your vision whites out, he asks in a shaky voice, “Where do you want me?” In your state, he’s lucky you understand the question.

“Inside, inside,” you beg, and then the coil snaps. Your legs ache as every muscle tenses underneath Erwin, somehow pulling him even deeper than he was before as you writhe and cream around him. You fist your hands in his hair as he continues to rail against you before throwing his head back and releasing with a sharp, “Fuck!” You feel his cum running out of you as he shoots multiple loads inside, your pulsing walls milking out every last drop.

Erwin drops your legs at his sides before wrapping his hands around your waist, steadying you as he pulls out. He swipes two fingers up through your dripping folds, feeling your wetness one last time before rolling over and collapsing beside you. You clamber over against him as quickly as you can, pulling his hand up to your face and sucking his fingers clean. Erwin sighs and wraps his arms around you, holding you against his chest and stroking your hair.

“Are you… ok?” he asks between heavy breaths, and you nod.

“Better than ok,” you assure him. Maybe the best you’ve ever felt.

You stay curled together in your tangled sheets for a long time, holding each other. Erwin rubs circles into your back and your upper thighs with his knuckles, warming up your muscles that had fallen asleep while he had you pressed down. Soothing kisses are pressed to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck—anywhere he can reach—along with murmured praises. “That felt amazing. You did so well.” You don’t know if he notices, but you let one stray tear fall down your cheek, overwhelmed by not only how good but how complete this makes you feel.

After ages, Erwin uncurls himself from you. He looks at you so fondly, reaching out to brush his fingers against your flushed cheek. “Can I take you out for dinner again tomorrow?”

“How about you just stay for breakfast?”

“You don’t happen to have any of that dark roast in your apartment, do you?”

“I bought a bag. Just in case.”

A lot changes in the next five years, but a lot stays the same as well. You, Erwin, and Daisy live under one roof, but you commute into the city almost every day. You still work in a coffee shop, but now, it’s one you own. Erwin gave up his CEO position after his second book was published, but he kept his shares in the company, meaning you have a pretty little nest egg to fall back on, even after he helps you start your own business.

Recon Coffeehouse is located in one of the city’s hippest neighborhoods. Big tables are available for DND groups to reserve for their weekly sessions, and every Friday, you host video game tournaments. Gradually, you attract your own regulars, including your friends from Scout. Erwin sits at the end of the bar top most days, working on his next story. Being a business owner is a brand new challenge all its own, but you still find the time to work behind the counter at least once a week. Erwin puts a ring on your finger and stays by your side through everything. You’re exactly where you were always meant to be.

#erwin smith x reader #erwin x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk #my writing

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thunderheadfred · 4 years ago

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🦈Kirishima HC’s🦈

Absolutely no one asked for this i just like him a lot

He’s an adult in all of these. 20s-30s at least. Some NSFW because I’m a big perv. Minors do not interact. Shoo.

- - - - -

General:

He is in the dictionary under Himbo, right next to Kronk.

Works part-time as a fitness instructor before making a name for himself as a pro hero. Most of his clients are middle-aged women, because he makes people feel safe. Before long, word gets around and he amasses this like. Loyal army of jacked housewives and older ladies who are his biggest possible fans. They mother-hen him like crazy.

Has a large and complicated extended family. Lots of cousins. You will never learn all their names, don’t even try. I have no idea if his parents have canon occupations but no matter what Horikoshi says, they actually own a mountain onsen. Kirishima went to the city by himself to go to middle/high school, his family is all off in the country somewhere and he gets homesick a lot but never admits it. He’s broke for a long time even after making it as a pro hero, because he sends most of his money back home.

He’s a dog dad. You cannot, WILL not convince me otherwise. Big dogs. Small dogs. Fancy dogs. Ugly dogs. He has a whole pack. He calls them all baby, sweetie, pupper, the worst and most embarrassing baby talk. Tells them about his day. All of his furniture is wrecked. He’s an active member in online dog groups, where he is careful to use a pseudonym and never show his face, but eventually people are going to figure out that Red Riot’s dogs look an awful lot like this one user’s....

He’s in a casual taiko group, always on the o-daiko. Loves participating in festivals and parades. He has never, ever, not once, worn a shirt while drumming. Probably has been gifted at least one antique taiko drum for his hero work, and he keeps it in his house but is too afraid to play it because it’s scary valuable “uhh it’s definitely haunted”

Regularly goes out drinking. Socially and responsibly, like clockwork, always with the same people. He’s a goddamned lightweight, and no one understands why. Will mope if he has to miss a night out at the izakaya.

So he’s clean, but sloppy. House looks like a tornado ripped through it, and nothing he owns matches. Not a single thing. I mentioned the dogs.

Will absolutely use “manly” as a replacement for “awesome,” and will constantly tell you how manly you are. Your actual gender is a non-issue. If you hang out with him for more than five minutes you’re manly as hell now.

He cries a lot? Sometimes it’s for show but he gets genuinely misty-eyed over the dumbest things. Do NOT show him pictures of puppies.

He’s good at braiding hair. His or yours. When his hair isn’t hardened, he likes doing all kinds of wacky stuff with it. He usually keeps it long enough for braids, ponies, buns, quirk-assisted faux-hawks, whatever. Mina has given him many bad ideas. He will definitely steal your hair bands and accessories, if you use them.

His fridge is just like, meat and beer. He will, if forced, consume perhaps one single vegetable. Unfortunately, his B.O. reflects this. God bless him - he showers and bathes daily, because he works out a lot and is just generally hygienic. But don’t ever touch his socks barehanded.

He wears the cheapest, most predictable cologne you can imagine, the kind that comes in an aerosol can and punches a hole in the ozone every time he sprays his pits. It smells stupidly good on him. How. so fucking manly. you kind of hate him for getting away with it.

- - - - -

And now, the 🌶 Spicy Ones 🌶

Does not date or hook up much; wants a serious relationship.

Has a tough time getting dates, weirdly. He’s still secretly insecure, but mostly he’s got rocks for brains and never knows how to flirt. He ends up friendzoning most of the people interested in him, because he is, in fact, a little too chivalrous for his own good and can never make the first move. He’s an emotional open book, but clueless romantically. I recommend being extremely straightforward. Draw him a map if you have to.

Is afraid to kiss you too deeply because of the teeth. Will take a lot of gentle encouragement to get him comfortable, but once he knows you’re safe, he’s going to be kissing you all the time. Like, too much. People are gawking, Kiri, for God’s sake.

He radiates massive doses of husband/dad energy. Will immediately marry the hell out of you. If you are capable of and willing to have his children, you are going to get extremely pregnant. Very quickly. Not necessarily a breeding kink (though why not), he just really wants to start a family with you.

He’s Big. Just huge. Tall and broad, and also... his dick is a summit and you will need to prepare for the climb. He’s had problems in the past because no, not everybody wants ALL THAT inside them. That said, if you can handle it? Woof.

Hard as a rock is No Joke with this man. Can and WILL use his quirk on his dick. If you don’t think that’s the first thing he mastered as a teenager I dont know what to tell you. Ever used a glass dildo? Well buckle up cuz it’s like if a massive glass dildo whispered sweet nothings in your ear and held you close in big strong arms and fucked you till you cried. It’s a sometimes thing. Otherwise you’d simply pass away.

He loves your brains. Your smarts and wit are a huge turn on, and he gets a boner when you use a word he doesn’t know. He also loves fucking your brains completely out, so that you cant use any words at all.

He’s a devout church-going body-worshipper. He’s so jacked that’s it’s constantly intimidating, like, how dare you stand next to this chiseled statue of a man?! but whether you love power-lifting with him or would rather die than exercise, he’s gonna treat you like the prettiest fucking piece of cake on planet earth.

Size kink ahoy; he gets his big grabby mitts on you... and you psychologically lose three feet. Doesn’t matter how tall or small or fat or thin you are, you are getting groped, squeezed, and manhandled. You didn’t even know it was possible to get thrown around like that; always onto something soft.

Not dominant. Not unless you ask very, very nicely. had a brief pushy phase at the peak of his teenage manliness obsession, unconsciously trying to be more like Bakugou, but he quickly realized controlling people wasn’t really him. It certainly isn’t very manly. Doesn’t want any toxic masculinity in his love life, even as roleplay.

That said, he can and will be a soft dom, if that’s what you want. After some practice, he’d get pretty good at it too. But his natural sexual groove is goofy, a bit awkward. Usually finds a non-sexual excuse to touch you at first; prepare to get tickled a lot. If you sit in his lap it’s all over.

If you get dominant with him, even a little, he’s gonna turn to putty in your hands. Go ahead and boss that big dumb puppy around. Nothing turns him on like seeing you get exactly what you want.

You’ll have morning wood pressed up against your ass. Every damn day. He might hump and grope you in his sleep, moaning a little. Usually it just wears off. If you wake him up to fuck, he’ll have no idea what’s going on but will be like “hell yeah i guess this is happening”

Gives oral like a starving man. Has absolutely zero reservations, because he knows his tongue and hands can’t hurt you. Will be as loud and messy as possible. If you get embarrassed or shy about it, he’s going to mumble sweet talk directly into your junk until your teeth fall out.

He’s vocal in bed. Growly. A moaning groaning disaster. He says the sweetest, gentlest things... has the cleanest dirty talk you’ve ever heard, but tenderness filtered through his bourbon-barrel chest comes out all dark and rumbly, especially when he’s close. you feel his “I love you” in your bones

He thinks making his partner cum is the manliest thing he can do. Any orgasm is good, but if you cum untouched on his dick, he’ll be riding that high for days

#kirishima headcanons #kirishima x reader #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you #gender neutral #bnha #smut #mha #kinda #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #bnha x reader #mha x reader #fred writes #avert your eyes chilren #i dont know how to tag things #kirishima eijirou

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headoverheelsforramsey · 3 years ago

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19,20 and 58 for Meera and Ethan please ❤️

The Best Man

Book : Open Heart (set post book 3)

Pairing : Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Meera Bose)

Summary : Ethan gets nervous over the best man speech at Tobias' wedding, and turns to his wife for help.

Category : Fluff

Warnings : None

Rating : General

Word Count : 569

Prompt : #58 ~ "I know you can do it." from the 101 ways to say i love you prompt list.

A/N : Thank you so much for the request anon. I'll try to get to 19 & 20 as soon as I can, but for now enjoy this little ficlet on prompt 58. This is going to be my very early submission for @choicesnovchallenge2021 day 19 : party. I am also using this week's @wackydrabbles prompt. Therefore both the prompts will appear in bold. I hope y'all will enjoy as much as I did while writing this. Happy Reading! ☺️💜

The music of the dance floor descended as Meera stepped off, Jackie tried to pull her in for the next song but she desperately needed a breather. She flopped down on a barstool and gulped down a glass of water. "Dancing with the roomies was a task!", she thought.

"I can't do this!" Meera's husband declared taking up the seat beside her and grabbing a drink himself.

"Woah, easy there old man," she said holding up the small sheet of paper scribbled with his angry illegible handwriting. "Wait, is this…?" she looked up at him in disbelief.

"Don't you dare, rookie!" Ethan warned.

"Oh my god!" Meera let out a snort and doubled down in laughter. "I can't believe this! Ethan Ramsey, the Ethan Ramsey writing down his speech?"

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose snatching away the paper and tucking it safely inside his tux.

"I cannot believe this, you are the same person who delivered a freaking keynote speech a few months back without any preparation whatsoever and now you are getting cold feet over a best man speech?" Meera continued the tease.

"That was all medical stuff!" Ethan reasoned, "and this," he looked around the reception going on in full swing, "this is all new."

"It's not new," Meera said, covering his hand with both of hers. "Think about it carefully, you and Tobias have known each since the beginning of your medical career, which is practically all your life. Sure there have been some rough patches, but y'all are back together and stronger than ever. If there is anyone in this room who is capable of doing this, it's you," Meera stopped to stare into his mystical blue eyes, "I know you can do it. So, use your words, and make me proud."

Ethan looked back into her eyes, taking in the soft adoration they radiated, "such a motivational speech, babe. But I am not letting you off the hook that easily," he smiled teasingly.

"What!?" Meera groaned, "I thought I had you already! All those stupid superhero movies making me think that a speech will help you overcome your fears!"

"That's why I always tell you to stop watching such junk."

"Never, Ramsey. You are stuck with a Marvel fanatic for the rest of your life."

Ethan rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the fact, how he is going to lose many valuable hours of his life sitting in a movie theatre, watching unscientific superhero movies.

He focused on the problem at hand, "look, you are the one who convinced me to take up this best man thing and you got to help me out now. And besides you took a vow remember? 'In sickness and in health' well consider this my sickness," Ethan grinned.

"Ugh, fine!" Meera rolled her eyes, "I'll help you with that stupid thing."

"Great! I saw an empty balcony back there, it's peaceful, we can practice there," Ethan said, getting up.

"I miss the good ol' days when you would take advantage of deserted, abandoned balconies for something completely different," Meera said, finishing her drink and grabbing two more for the way. "Marriage has really made you bland, Ramsey," she said, following him into the balcony.

"Has it? Let's see what I can do to fix that," Ethan turned to face his wife, with a mischievous smirk, "maybe Tobias doesn't need a best man speech afterall," he winked.

Thank you so much if you have read till here, it means the world to me. Hope to see you go on other different adventures with me, Ethan and Meera, till then sending love and hugs your way! ❤️

A/N : Just wanted to say that I received a lot of requests from the prompt list and I am so grateful for that. I'll try to post one prompt each week but real life is a bitch and will obviously give me all sorts of problems hence delaying the process so please bear with me. 🥺 That being said if y'all still want to send in requests feel free to do so, but do check out this post to avoid repetion, thank you. 💜

Taglist : @starrystarrytrouble @mm2305 @charisworld @choicesfanaf @potionsprefect @genevievemd @shanzay44 @little-flowers-on-heaven @schnitzelbutterfingers @coffeeheartaddict @gryffindordaughterofathena @chemist-ana @adiehardfan-deactivated20211021 @custaroonie @ireneadlerisseggsy @takemyopenheart @natureblooms24 @mainstreetreader @lawyerlies @a-crepusculo @quixoticdreamer16 @starryeyedrookie @barbean @thebluestonedpendant @kit-rookie-princess @wanderingamongthewildflowers

+ @choicesficwriterscreations , @openheartfanfics , @choicesnovchallenge2021 , @wackydrabbles

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed. 💜

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alt-rose · 4 years ago

Text

take a break | colson baker

colson baker imagine

take a break - you’re studying for the MCAT, and he reminds you of the importance of selfcare.

warnings: none? language? school stress?

it wasn’t unusual for Colson’s living room to be a mess. from all the ragers that he’s thrown to the guys’ weekly get together, the living room was bound to be trashed. empty bottles and glasses usually littered every surface with rolling papers and ash spread thoroughly in between.

however, the mess that currently inhabited the living room was not Colson or the guys’ doing. it was yours. you had taken over the living room, claiming it as your study zone.

you were currently studying for the MCAT, which you were taking in a few weeks. Colson had been so supportive when you decided to visit him during the important time in your academic career, and you were only asking for a few hours a day to yourself so that you could study for your upcoming test. you promised that you would spend the rest of your time with him since you were spending your spring break camped out at his place and would eventually need to head back to school.

he was so proud of you, and he was incredibly impressed with your work ethic. applying to medical school was not an easy feat, and you had worked your ass off to get to where you are today, which is something that he could relate to.

so, Colson let you trash his living room. he had banished the guys from his house for the duration of your break (or at least, kept them out of your study zone), and he even cleared out when you had planned to study, usually spending his time in the studio working on his next album.

when he was gone, you spent your day drowning in study guides and practice tests. your papers were sprawled out on the living room floor as you used the coffee table as your desk. you had pens and highlighters buried within the mess. you had your textbooks cracked open to whatever page that you had frantically flipped to when you couldn’t remember something. mugs with day-old coffee and empty fruit snack pouches were abandoned on the end tables by the couch.

it was safe to say that you absolutely destroyed his living room.

“I’m going to head to the studio for a few hours.”

peering up from your place on the floor, you watched as Colson zipped up his jacket and shoved his wallet and keys into his pockets.

“text me if you need anything?” he suggested before making his way over to you, leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of your head.

“sure,” you murmur before pulling him down to kiss his cheek.

“don’t study too hard,” he joked, earning a stressed laugh from you.

the both of you knew that asking you not to study hard was like asking you not to breathe. both are necessary for your survival.

after he left, you decided to use the silence to your advantage, and you began to take another practice exam. that exam then turned into taking another exam when you didn’t score as well as you had hoped, and then you were spiraling.

you scoured your study guides and notes to review the material you had missed. your eyes were burning from the strain, and your head was beginning to pound. you were digging yourself a hole in your insecurities. you had broken down into tears twice now from the stress. you were dizzy and nauseous from forgetting to eat; not that you really had the stomach for it right now anyway. you don’t even remember the last time you got up to use the bathroom.

when Colson came home after 9 hours at the studio, he found you in the same position that you were in when he left. you were hunched over your books. your blue light glasses had slid down your nose, and your hair was a mess. leaving you to finish whatever you were working on, he made his way to the kitchen to clean up whatever mess that you had left him, only to find that there were no dishes in the sink. the kitchen hadn’t been touched since that morning.

“hey,” he began as he made his way back to the living room. “did you eat anything today?”

you only hummed a response as you flipped through one of your notebooks, completely ignoring him. finding what you were looking for, you jotted a note down on one of your study guides.

“hey,” Colson tried to get your attention once more as he took a seat on the floor across the table from you. he watched your eyes flick up to him briefly before they directed their attention back to the work in front of you. “dude.”

“Col, give me a minute to finish this up, and I’ll talk to you then,” you snap at him as you take a few more notes.

Colson let out a sigh as he watched you go back and forth from your notebook to your textbook. he chose to sit and scroll through twitter while he waited for you to finish, but after 20 minutes had passed, he knew that you weren’t going to stop anytime soon.

“jesus,” he muttered to himself as he put his phone down on top of some of your papers on the table. “have you taken a break at all today? have you eaten? looked out a window?”

you scoffed at him.

“I don’t have time for breaks, Colson,” you said coldly. “I have to study because I have to take this test in a few weeks – a test, might I add, that will define my future – and I am not even remotely prepared for it. my practice scores are decreasing. I can’t remember any of this material. my notes are shit. and, I am going to fucking fail, which means I am not going to get into medical school, and all of my years of working my ass off in school will mean absolutely nothing. I cannot just take a break when I have everything at stake here.”

you both took a beat. you were taken aback by your sudden outburst. yeah, you meant every word of it, but you hadn’t meant for it to come out so harshly. and, you definitely didn’t mean to snap at Colson, who had been so supportive of your goals from the beginning. he was kind of shocked by your snappy attitude.

“I understand,” he broke the silence. “I understand that you are really stressed, and I know that you have a lot of pressure on you. I just want to help, and I think taking an hour to eat and do something other than tear apart your notes would help.” he gently placed his hand on top of yours. “it’s late. I’m tired. you have to be tired. let’s call it a night. I’ll make you something to eat, and then you can turn your brain off for a few hours. killing yourself over this work won’t improve your scores-”

“Colson,” you interrupted, pulling your hand away from him. “I just need to review a bit more.”

“no,” he said sternly. “you need to rest. self-care and all that shit is just as important as studying.” he stood up from his spot on the floor, now towering over you. “come on, get up.” you gave him an annoyed look, practically telling him to F off. “no, come on, don’t give that shit. get up.”

he moved to your side of the table, and he pulled you up from the floor, despite your protests. to keep you from running back to your work, he threw you over his shoulder, and you yelped from surprise.

“put me down,” you whine, pounding your fists on his back. “you’re being a jerk.”

Colson carried you up the stairs toward his bedroom before finally setting you down in his ensuite. you landed on your feet quite ungracefully, only for Colson to pick you back up to place you on the counter. the two of you stared at each other for a moment. you glared while Colson silently challenged you to make a run for it.

he raised an eyebrow at you once he was sure you would stay before turning to the bathtub. he turned the water on and waited for it to heat up before stopping the drain.

when he finally turned back to you, he found you slumped over with your eyes fixated on the floor, as if you were trying to micro nap while you waited. he suddenly felt less confident in leaving you to take a relaxing bath alone while he fixed you up something to eat, now knowing that you were on the verge of sleep.

gently placing a hand on your cheek, he moved to hold you close while the tub began to fill. he rested his chin on the top of your head while you tucked yourself into his chest.

“was gonna leave you to take a bath, but I don’t want to leave you to drown in the tub if you’re going to fall asleep on me,” he murmured into your hair.

you let out a tired (and slightly loopy) laugh.

“you might have to join me,” you murmur into his shoulder.

“okay.”

with that, he moved to pull out two towels and dropped some fancy bath salts into the tub before finally moving to help you off the counter. he helped you slip out of your clothes before moving to undress himself, and then the two of you climbed into the tub together.

you sat with your back resting against his chest, and your head was resting against his shoulder. he let you close your eyes for a few minutes, allowing you to take a small nap. while you laid against him with your eyes closed, he gently ran a soapy washcloth against your skin to wipe away the fact that you hadn’t showered in at least two days.

“still with me?” Colson hummed lightly.

you nodded against his chest.

“do you want me to wash your hair?”

“yes, please.”

Colson’s heart melted at how small your voice sounded. wordlessly, he gently moved you forward so that he could rinse and wash your hair with the detachable showerhead. you rested between his knees while he ran his hands through your hair. you were seconds from falling asleep, his motions slowly luring you to sleep. once he was finished with you, he let you rest your head against his propped-up knee while he quickly rinsed and washed himself.

he watched you carefully as he moved to unplug the drain and to hang up the showerhead before gently running a hand over your cheek. you opened your eyes at his touch.

“ready to get out?” he asked softly, only receiving a sleepy nod from you.

he got out first, quickly wrapping a towel around his waist before holding your towel out for you. you stepped into the towel and let him wrap you up. after taking a minute to dry off, Colson grabbed the robe he got for you the last time you came to visit, and he wrapped it around you after taking your towel to expertly wrap your wet hair up in it.

you sat on the bathroom counter, slowly doing your skin care routine while he took a moment to dry himself off and put on a pair of boxers.

“you okay if I go fix you up something to eat?” Colson asked from the doorway, watching you apply your moisturizer.

“I’m okay,” you give him a small smile. “thanks, Cols.”

once you were finished, you dragged yourself to his bed, still wrapped in your robe with no motivation to put your pajamas on. you curled up against the pillows, letting yourself rest your eyes for a moment, while you waited for Colson.

“I made you a sandwich.”

you opened your eyes to find Colson kneeling on the bed next to you with a plate in his hand. you move to sit up to let him lean against the pillows next to you.

“you’re a saint,” you laugh lightly as you lean into his side.

“hardly a saint,” he laughed back at you as he handed you half of your sandwich while he grabbed half of his.

“a god?” you suggest taking the sandwich from him.

“maybe.” he raised his slice to you. “cheers.”

“cheers,” you laugh as you bump your sandwich against his. you took a moment to take your first bite. “oooo,” you call to him covering you mouth as you finish your bite. “you’re an angel. that’s what you are?”

“alright, you noob, knock it off,” he smiled at you. “if anyone’s an angel here, it’s you.”

“yeah, yeah, okay, you sap,” you nod back him before taking a bite.

the two of you let a comfortable silence fall over you as you finished your sandwiches. once you were both finished, Colson placed the plate on his nightstand before turning his attention back to you, only to find you already tucked under the covers. following you, he slipped under the covers before situating himself comfortably on his pillows. he pulled you into his chest, and you rested your head on his chest.

“thank you,” you murmur.

“for what?” he lightly stroked your damp hair.

“you always take care of me. I love you for that.”

“I’ll always take care of my girl.”

you lightly ran a hand up his arm, tracing his tattoos.

“you’re going to be a great doctor one day-”

“Cols,” you sigh with a defeated feeling sinking into your chest.

“I mean it,” he told you. “you’re so smart, and I know this is a really stressful time for you, and it’s really difficult for you, but I know you’re going to do great on your test. you’ve been studying nonstop for weeks. you know you’re prepared, and I know it may not feel like it because you’ve been taking so many practice tests and stuff, but I think a break would do you some good. you need a fresh start. get out of your head for a bit, you know? take a day to get out and have fun, and then you can go back to studying for the rest of the break.”

“Cols.”

“spend the day with me tomorrow. we can go to the beach, or we can go hiking, or shopping, or anything you want to do. let me get you out of this house.”

you let out a sigh, taking a moment to think. he wasn’t wrong. you needed to get out, and you needed a break.

“okay,” you sigh into his chest.

“good,” he smiled to himself as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. “now sleep.”

“don’t have to tell me twice,” you laugh lightly before nuzzling yourself into his chest so that you weren’t putting any strain on your neck. he reached a hand up and turned off the lamp, and darkness fell on both of you. “hey Cols?”

“hmmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, (Y/N/N).”

hope you enjoyed! i took a break from some schoolwork to finish this piece. college is hard, my dudes. feel free to send requests! - rose xx

#colson baker #colson baker imagine #colson baker imagines #colson baker x reader #machine gun kelly imagines #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader

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littledrummeraussie · 4 years ago

Text

find the pieces to make you whole.

general masterlist

word count: 3261

If you would ask me what this is - I honestly cannot tell you. I was in a soft Ashton mood which got laced with some slight sub!Ashton feels too and I ended up writing this fic. It’s basically a feels dump so please feel free to skip it if you’re not in the mood.

Feedback is appreciated! ❤️

warnings: anxiety attack. angst. comfort. slightest bit of D/s dynamics implied and talked about (Ashton calls reader Miss one time). countless nicknames for each other. soft loving for Ashton. confessions and deep talks. some fluffy feels.

- - - - -

It happened slowly and silently – nobody else would have caught it, the signs were so subtle that you thought that maybe even Ashton himself didn’t realize what was going on. Not yet. But you were way too familiar with your boyfriend’s mind and little ticks, reading his body language like no one else. His index finger tapped against his glass every now and then, little movements tying it all together as his nail made a sound when it knocked against it. You leaned into his shoulder and he let his hand fall into his lap, continuing his tapping on his knee until you gently grabbed his hand and squeezed it. It took him a moment, but a few seconds later he squeezed your hand back.

He seemed to calm down a little as you kept up the conversation with your friends, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb soothingly. You felt his fingers lightly twitch a few more times, but he stayed mostly still after that – you kept an eye on him though. Ashton attempted to join in and for the next 20 minutes he was freely talking about something with the others, his nerves disappearing and turning into excitement. Then the conversation changed to another topic and his knees started bouncing, almost to the point that he started shaking the booth you were sitting in.

“Hey,” you made sure your voice was soft and calming as you rested your hand on his thigh, slowly rubbing his knee, applying only a light pressure on it to stop his nervous movements. “You’re okay there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he shook his head quickly, letting out a chuckle. “Just– drumming. In my head. Can’t shake it, you know.”

But his eyes were telling you otherwise; the slight tension around his mouth as he smiled, the way he was leaning into you more and more, Adam’s apple bobbing as his throat worked around words he couldn’t say out loud. And if nothing else, the way he gripped your hand when you turned back to your friends was a dead giveaway. His fingers tapped against your hand under the table, thigh pressing against yours as his knee started bouncing again, his whole body starting to give off a nervous energy that you were way too familiar with.

You hummed at something the others were saying, fingers lightly tapping on your phone then putting it back into your bag. A second later Ashton stiffened next to you, his own phone buzzing in his pocket between the two of you. You nudged his arm as you gave him an encouraging smile, letting go of his hand.

“It’s okay, take it! I’m sure it’s Cal or Luke.”

Ashton nodded and slid out of the booth, already reaching for his pocket. He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked between the screen and you, but one small nod of your head made him turn around, disappearing behind the front door of the diner.

Your eyes searched the windows of the place, following Ashton’s form until you couldn’t see him anymore. A few minutes passed like this before you excused yourself to the bathroom, but instead slipped out of the door to the street, gaze landing on your boyfriend who was sitting on a nearby bench, legs still bouncing and wringing his hands, head hung low as he waited. You stepped closer and brushed your fingers through his hair at the back of his head, and Ash let out a choked breath before taking a lungful of air.

“What’s the matter, love?” you sat on his thigh as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and Ashton buried his face in your neck, his arms around you pulling you to his chest. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m– I’m sorry, I just…” Ash mumbled against your skin, words frantic as he leaned into you, fingers gripping the back of your dress.

“Sweetie, breathe with me,” you rested your chin on the top of his head, fingers going back to his neck to stroke his hair lightly. “Nice and easy, that’s it.”

Ashton let out another choked sound as he tried to match his breathing to yours, hiccupping as his breaths started to slow down. His cheek was cold against your neck, but the hot puffs of air on your skin let you know that he was calming down a bit. A kiss was pressed against his temple when his breathing was back to normal, and he pulled back slightly, rubbing away invisible tears from under his lashes.

“Better?” you rubbed his shoulder soothingly, and Ash just nodded, hands sliding down to your hips, not gripping you anymore, just holding onto you. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Thanks for giving me a way out, sweetheart,” he tilted his head towards you, foreheads lightly knocked together as he whispered.

“Of course, baby,” your thumb stroked his cheek and he leaned into the touch, a small sound leaving his lips. “You can always count on me.”

“Though, I was really confused,” he finally confessed, a shadow of a smile crossing his face. “Didn’t know why you were calling me when you were sitting right next to me.”

“Nobody needed to know what was going on. You needed a break and it’s my job to take care of you the best way I can.”

“It’s… still hard sometimes, you know?” he tucked his face back against your neck, inhaling your perfume and your scent deeply. “That I can… ask for things. That I don’t have to be the one taking care of everyone and dealing with every shitty situation. That I can let go and just… breathe.”

“You do that enough for others,” your voice was a soft caress against his ear, and a light shiver ran through Ashton’s body. “And I’m more than happy to do it for you.”

“Thank you, love,” he let out a content sigh as he burrowed even closer to you, and you kissed the top of his head in return.

“Of course, pretty,” you squeezed his body in a hug then slowly pulled back. “Do you want us to go home? It’s okay if you don’t feel like staying.”

“I don’t want to ruin your night out,” Ash shook his head, but you could see another flash of anxiety in his eyes.

“Can you do another 15 minutes?” you brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, and he nodded after a few seconds, whispering a quiet ‘yes’. “Okay. Come on, 15 minutes and then we leave. Show me how strong you can be, baby!”

Ashton nodded again and let you pull him up from the bench, giving you a quick hug before taking your hand and leading you back into the diner, acting like nothing had happened in the last 10 minutes. You settled back to the booth next to each other, hands clasped together under the table as you joined the conversation again, all the while stroking Ashton’s hand to keep him grounded. He was still tense, but his nervous twitching stopped and now quietly waited for you to leave the place together.

The promised 15 minutes passed, and you started shifting, pulling a few bills out of your purse and putting them on the table before turning to Ash, voice a bit strained.

“Can you take me home? I’m just… not feeling too well,” you lightly tugged on his hand as you turned towards your friends, giving them an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry; I think I need to skip the rest of the night. I think my migraine is coming back from the morning.”

“Let’s get going then,” Ashton was already out of the booth, reaching for your hand, his previous anxiety nowhere to be found; instead he turned on the charm that always swept everyone off their feet. “We don’t want you to get sick, it’s better if we get you home before that. Ladies, guys, always a pleasure!”

The two of you quickly said goodbye to the others, then Ashton took your hand and led you out of the diner, together making your way towards the car parked nearby. Once you’ve settled inside he turned to you, fingers lightly squeezing your knee.

“Thank you,” his voice was soft and quiet, and you smiled back at him.

“Of course. I’ve promised you 15 minutes and you waited it out so patiently, I’m really proud of you love,” you covered his hand with yours, stroking it lovingly.

“No. I wanted to thank you for… not telling them that… that it was me who needed to leave,” Ash stumbled over his words, fingers twitching under yours until you interlocked them, holding onto him like that.

“Told you, Ash,” you leaned over the console to press your lips against his cheek, making him flush a pretty pink colour. “I’ll always take care of you and protect you. You’ll always get what you need from me, I promised you. And I’m keeping that promise.”

“So– it’s okay if I ask for something? When we get home,” he bit into his bottom lip, and you nodded without hesitation, squeezing his hand one last time before letting him go.

“Whatever you need, my pretty boy.”

***

Ashton’s only request was to let him cuddle up to you, but you knew him better than that – knew what those small things were that would make him feel better, but he still wouldn’t dare ask for them, thinking that they were silly or not important enough for you to pay attention to. But that was the beauty of it all, that even without words you knew what he needed from you when he was having one of his moments.

Just as he told you only an hour ago, it was still hard for him to believe that he was allowed to take a step back and let someone else take care of him, let someone else deal with the world’s problems as he let himself breathe. He liked having control of the things surrounding him and especially his own mind and feelings, but somewhere along the way he started to lose that control. It was around that time that you came into his life, first only as a friend, and as he realized just how comfortable he was with you, a lover as well.

It still took him a long time to find the words how he really felt, how with you it was easier to breathe and face the world, how it meant everything to him that you were there during his best and worst, how your sweet words and soft touches were like a cure to his mind, body and soul. Many late night conversations later he finally confessed that sometimes he just wants someone to take care of him as well, to let someone take control instead of him. Your back rested against the headboard as you asked him to come closer, letting him rest his head in your lap, your fingers playing with his hair as he confided in you how he struggled with letting that control go, no matter how he tried.

That was the point when your dynamic slowly started to shift, your relationship now built on a different kind of trust and honesty as you helped Ashton face and voice his needs, letting him know that it was okay to ask for things from you too. It started with small stuff, 5 more minutes in bed, an extra kiss or hug before you left for work. Then came the cuddles while you watched TV, or you spooning him when he needed some extra love that day. He slowly started to open up, now letting you be the one who knew how to help him deal with his thoughts and feelings whenever he was losing himself. He still struggled, both wanting to take control of things and letting them go at the same time, making him anxious as he tried to find balance.

“Miss?”

The first time the name fell off his lips it surprised you – but it was Ashton’s way of letting you know that he needed you to take care of him without him really asking for it. Now it was natural, how you were his girlfriend and caretaker at the same time, how both your name and the title he gave you were a part of you that he loved and trusted, that you gave to him without a second thought.

“Come here, love,” you reached your hand out to him, and he shuffled closer, climbing onto the bed next to you.

When you got home you sent him to take a shower upstairs while you did the same in the downstairs bathroom, you finishing before him to make sure you have time to get ready for him. You changed into your sleep shorts and a soft shirt, opening the windows to let in some fresh air while fluffing up the pillows, dimming the lights just enough so it wouldn’t bother you during the night, but they would still bring comfort for Ashton.

You combed his damp hair back from his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks and the soft spots behind his ears, smoothing over his eyebrows and the corners of his eyes, pressing a kiss on his forehead and down on the bridge of his nose, lips brushing his lips in another sweet kiss.

“Pillow time?” you prompted, voice still soft and light as you stroked his hair at the nape of his neck.

“If it’s not too much to ask,” his fingers tangled into the hem of your shirt, tugging it a little as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“You know it’s not, sweetie,” you turned your head to kiss his temple, tapping his knee. “Alright, pillow time.”

Ashton pulled back until you slipped under the sheets and settled against the pillows, opening your arms for him, making him follow you as he climbed over you, resting his body on top of yours. His legs tangled with yours, arms wrapped around your middle while he put his head on your breasts, tucking his face against your skin to let your scent cloud his senses. He quickly found that this was his favourite place to be, close and cuddled up, your body like a soft pillow while you kissed and caressed him, making him let out content sighs as he finally let his mind turn off.

“Comfy?” your fingers teased the soft skin of his neck, drawing over the condor tattoo on the back, and Ash hummed, rubbing his cheek against your chest.

“Mhmm,” he shifted a little as he tried to match his breathing to yours, something he always did when he was anxious, knowing that it would calm him down too.

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” you asked a few minutes later, lightly rubbing the top of his spine. “Or just cuddles tonight? It’s okay to choose just one or both, you know. Whatever you need, baby.”

“I just… wanted to apologize for tonight,” he finally said, his shoulders tensing and you let your palms settle on them, soothingly rubbing at his muscles.

“Apology accepted, though I’m not sure why are you apologizing,” you tutted lightly, fingers stroking over his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ashton sighed, mumbling something before he shifted again, turning so he could fold his arms over your stomach, resting his chin on them. You reached for his cheek to rub your thumb over it, and he melted against your touch, letting out another sigh.

“I– don’t know if I’m good enough for your friends,” he confessed softly, resting his other cheek on his forearm. “I always feel like I have to be… someone, you know? Like they expect me to be… Ashton Irwin, not just… Ashton…”

“Did that give you performance anxiety?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he closed his eyes for a moment. “I just… I know how my friends feel about you… how much they love you. And I want your friends to like me too. I mean, we… spend so much time with my friends and that’s comfortable for me, but when it comes to your friends, I– I just…”

“It’s okay, Ash. You’re safe with me,” you squeezed his shoulders again, rubbing the knots forming there. “You can tell me.”

“I don’t want you to lose your friends because of me. I don’t want to take you away from them, and since they are important to you I want to share this with you just as I get to share my friends with you, but… I don’t know, I just…”

“Ash, I know the first few times can be scary, I’ve been there,” you lightly tugged on his hair as you looked into his eyes, a silent request for him to come closer, and he scooted up until you were facing each other, sharing a pillow. “And I know that’s because we have spent more time with your group than mine, and I’m already over this. And you’ve only met them a handful of times, and yeah, your position is quite different because of who you are. And sure, they were star-struck the first two or three times they saw you. But they also tell me time and time again how much they like you based on the time they’ve got to spend with you and how they hope you can make it to more gatherings because you genuinely seem like a nice guy. That’s why I asked if you wanted to come tonight…”

“…and I really wanted to…”

“And you did come,” you stroked the soft hair behind his ear, hand settling on his neck again. “For me that’s what matters. So we needed to skip the rest of the night? Big deal. You clearly had a bad case of anxiety, and there’s no shame in that.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Ashton whispered, clearly struggling with what happened.

“You haven’t,” you leaned forward to press your lips against his. “And I really appreciate your honesty with me. Thank you for letting me in and letting me know what is going on with you.”

“Thank you for listening and… understanding,” Ash finally let out a sigh, shoulders relaxing under your touch.

“I promise you I will consider this the next time we get invited, okay? We will talk about it and see how you’re feeling before we go. You can opt out if you’re not feeling it, I won’t mind it. But if you do want to come I will do my best to make sure you’re comfortable. Does that sound okay to you?”

“More than okay. Thank you, angel,” he scooted closer to rest his forehead against yours, and you nudged your nose against his, quietly humming.

“Ash?” his eyes opened, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. “I love you, pretty.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” he closed the short distance between the two of you, softly kissing you.

Ashton tucked his head back under your chin, finding his place in your arms as you went back to stroke his hair and neck, whispering words of love into the quiet of the room. His breath slowly evened out, his light snores tickling your neck where he burrowed against you. You let your eyes close as you followed the rising and falling of his chest, now matching your breathing to his to help you fall asleep.

In the end it was the soft thumping of his heart that lulled you to sleep.

- - - - -

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal @wontlastimokwiththat @luckyduckydoo @sunshineeashton @2fangirl4u @talkfastdrummer @pastelbabygirl19 @istantommoandtpwk @perfectlieirwin @thesweetness-irwin-archive @c-a-l-m-hood @youngblood199456 @tiannaxox2 @caffeinecalum @fanficsandotherthings @melanindarling @bubblegum18

#ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin fanfiction #ashton irwin angst #ashton irwin blurb #ashton irwin fluff #fiction time #afic: find the pieces to make you whole

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froog-water · 4 years ago

Text

howdy y'all, again!

just quickly before the chapter starts, i wanted to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who reads this! i have received a lot of support for this thing (more than i had hoped) and i am beyond grateful for it!

again, if there are any mistakes in this chapter, just hmu and i will fix it. i am just tired rn :)

also, slight warning for the beginning of the chapter, there are vivid descriptions of blood and gore and death. but nothing really troubling past that ;P

be safe out there my friends and thank you again

Upwards Over the Mountain

(Bloodhound x Reader)

previous; Chapter 2

Winter is in full swing and the entire world is covered in a thick blanket of white snow and eternal cold. For the most part, you had forgotten all about Bloodhound and the stranger circumstance of your meeting. Because there was not much for a bunch of fishermen and farmers to do during the stagnant times of chill, your bar had become a most frequented hotspot for these idle workers meaning you had very little time to yourself. Busy hands kept your mind busy too and soon some, if not most, of that night had been pushed back to the recesses of your consciousness. It also did not help that they never took you up on your offer of returning to the bar. They retreated back into being merely a story to you, a faint memory of a person long moved on. You could hardly even remember if it had even really happened at all. Oh well, you supposed they had better things to do.

Early morning light was barely seeping in through your bedroom window when you managed to open your eyes. Groggily you yawn and stretch and slowly go to open the curtains. Greeting you was the pleasant sight of a land half-asleep, the sky a brilliant warm pink despite the rest being draped in an unimaginable freeze. Your breath collected as fog on the frozen glass and tentatively you reach out to touch it. It was a lovely morning indeed and it would have stayed that way had you not looked up into the sky.

In the distance, large birds circled. Tiredness shifts to dread as you adjust your eyes to try to get a better look. Those were no ordinary birds, you remark taking note of how large their bodies were and of the swooping patterns of their flight. Those were scavenging birds. And there is only one thing to bring scavengers out during Winter.

You dress quickly, putting on your best and thickest jacket and pants, before grabbing your hunter's knife and bow. Andante was a man of many talents, most of which he passed on to you. One of those talents was his hunting skills. The summer before his knees went, was spent mostly out in the heart of the wild woods. It was an interesting experience, to say the least, and though you were nowhere near what could be considered good, you understood the basics of the hunt and of the weapons you wielded and you knew how to read signs. Signs like scavenger birds circling in the sky. Signs like there was something dying.

Into the snow you run without much of a second thought, your head locked upwards as you follow the shapes of the birds eyeing their next meal. What confused you most about this strange encounter was not the presence of the birds themselves, but the proximity that they were to you and the rest of the town. This was wild country, home of beasts and lands untamed and untouched by man’s iron hand. That much you knew, encounters like this were commonplace if you dared to leave the safety of human comforts. But you were not out in the uncomfortable forest which meant that whatever had caught the bird's attention was either very far from home or of a more concerning matter.

You edge into the outskirts of the white forest, the trees around you nothing more than empty sticks bearing only wind and ice. Overhead, the birds caw and swoop and through the boney fingers of branches, you can see that they are getting lower. You had to move quickly before they did. As you go deeper in, approaching what you assumed to be the border of someone's field, you hear something. Faintly, carried on the morning breeze, was the mewling of an animal. Your pace quickens and quietens as you zone in on the source, painfully aware of how loud the snow was underfoot but pushing on regardless. The relief that you had felt at knowing it was not a person in danger eases some of your mounting anxieties and offers you momentary strength to continue on in pursuit. If given the choice, you would have gladly left whatever animal lay in wait to its own devices, you had no business intruding in on their affairs - your presence would only bring them distress no matter your intentions. But something about this situation told you otherwise and guided your feet to where you would most certainly be needed. On the outskirts of a clearing, you spot something and crouch behind a leafless brush.

There before you, not even 20 meters away, was a fallen elk. You swallow down your gasp and try to focus over the noise of your beating heart, which becomes only louder as you start to take in the entire situation. The animal has toppled over a wired fence of some farmer's land, its hind leg still entangled and bleeding from its restraints, held high above the rest of its body at an uncomfortable angle. From its bloody mouth, it screamed weakly, puffs of dying hot breath escaping with the haunting noise. Your first guess was that this misdirected elk had simply gotten itself stuck in the fence, a most unfortunate event but not entirely implausible, but upon closer inspection at the rest of its heaving body, your guess died on your tongue.

Horrible, long gashes run down the length of the animal's side, pooling blood into the snow around it turning white to red. Its powerful neck was sliced deep in odd places and one of its front legs looked twisted or broken. This creature had not done this kind of destruction to itself - it was attacked. By something. You slowly turn your head around to scan the morning shadows of the forest clearing for any glowing eyes of an animal on the hunt. But there was no predator to be found. There would be none of course, because if there was such a predator here, then why would it not have killed its prey by now? Animals do not find enjoyment in torture and no man, you hoped, would ever do such heinous crimes to such innocent life. For now, at least, it was only you and the elk and the circling, hungry birds.

The elk cries again and you notice how its kicks have become lethargic and stifled by freezing joints and waning energy. It was suffering. Without much debate you ready an arrow in your bow, pulling taut the string with trained proficiency. You whisper to yourself a prayer, hoping that it would only take one arrow to kill the poor thing. You line your aim up, try to cease the shaking in your hands and shoulders, breathing deeply. Your arrow flies prematurely and misses its target, rather than piercing its skull you instead strike it in its neck, right behind its ear. The thing wails, although much softer and with more subtle movements - you must have hit its spine. Seizing the opportunity, you rush forward, ignoring the lurching of your stomach and pulling out your knife. Without a moment's hesitation, you drive it deep into the elk’s heart, right to the hilt of the blade. A little excessive, you deride, but a necessity given your previous inability to finish it quickly.

The thing stops moving. The pained cries fade off into the cold wind. You are left alone with your thoughts and the smell of fresh blood. Beneath your hands the elk lay motionless, its beautiful, soft fur a gentle texture against your trembling form. Andante had made sure that you had killed a few animals before he had honored you with a knife of your own. Still, experience did not dull the sharp sting of shock nor quell the rising weight in your chest. It was suffering, you reminded yourself, lightly dragging your fingers down the side of the animal's large and strong back.

These elk were beautiful creatures, graceful and nimble; they pranced through the wilderness in powerful, delicate strides showcasing the ultimate wonder of the natural world. You had encountered a herd of them once, all the while mesmerized as they strode past your hiding spot without a care in the world. It was quite distressing to see one now crumpled and lifeless. Emptiness sits heavy in your chest and though you know you are not going to throw up, the pressure erupts and you fall to your knees. A red hand clasps the arrow lodged deep in the neck of the animal and sharply pulls it out. You blink hard but cannot stop the tears that threaten to burn your eyes.

It was an animal. It was suffering. You did the right thing.

From somewhere behind you, the softest snow crunches, and your pity party abruptly ends as you draw another arrow and spin around. For a few tense seconds, your fingers quiver around the bow’s string, ready to shoot down if you so dared it. You only hesitate when you finally recognize the figure.

Bloodhound quietly raises both their gloved hands, fingers spread apart in an unarmed, peaceful gesture. You remain poised a moment longer until your eyes start to prick with new tears and you are forced to look away. You drop your arrow and turn back around to the elk, furiously trying to wipe your face with the clean sleeve of your jacket. Now, this was a predicament. What god had you spite so hard to deserve this kind of cruelty? True embarrassment blends with your established disgust and you fear now you may really throw up. Here was a true hunter, a beast born in blood and forged to kill. And here also was you, wallowing in pity. If only you could sink into the floor.

You can hear Bloodhound approach and soon feel their impending presence standing right next to you, taking in the sight of the poor thing on the ground. No one spoke, only the wind dared whisper in the dead world around you. The silence was stretching on for far too long and you knew you had to break it before it became too uncomfortable.

“I’m…” You sniffle hard, trying to force strength into your voice knowing full well that you had very little left to offer. You cough and stand up straight. “I’m not going to do you the dishonor and assume this was your kill.” You say, your voice somehow managing to sustain itself despite your state. Bloodhound does not respond right away, instead, they remain motionless, eyes scanning every detail of the elk and committing it to memory. You shake loose the last of your unstable emotions and grab ahold of your knife again. You move to the elk’s tangled leg and set to work cut free the wires.

“You cry for the animal.” Bloodhound finally speaks, sounding more like an observation rather than a question. With your attention focused on your task, you manage to answer in a more steady and calm attitude.

“Yes.” This was your admission of guilt, not just to Bloodhound but to yourself as well. God, how pathetic you were. “Yes, I cried. I know it is natural. That this is how it is meant to be but,” You hesitate, your lapse in concentration misguiding your knife and almost slicing the tip of our index finger. “This is not a hunt nor a kill. This poor creature was driven away from its home and family and pushed to our borders by some deranged and cruel beast. This is not natural. It was not killed to feed mouths. It was tortured. And it died confused and alone.” The leg snaps free from the wired fence and you wipe your blade clean on the snowy floor, ugly red stains being the only reminder of your deed.

“There is no shame in veeping.” Bloodhound murmurs a brash reassurance and kneels down, tracing their fingers from the elk’s wounds. “Vhat did this?”

“My guess is,” You state taking a step back and allowing Bloodhound to proceed with whatever they were wanting to do with the body, “A few years back, an illegal trading ship hit a bit of trouble just beyond our planet's frontier and had to quickly dump its cargo on the East mountains. Some of that cargo was the creatures we call ‘Shrieks’. They are alien to this ecosystem but even though they are terribly small and their numbers were minimal, they dominated the local wildlife - killing not just for food but for fun. The town’s people tried to cull some of their numbers but,” You explanation stutters off and you hastily take in a sharp breath, the icy air burning your nose and lungs. “Well, they could not get them all. It appears now that they are growing in size again. And in courage.”

Bloodhound does not respond, their attention wholly directed at the study of the animal. You wait a moment longer, the adrenaline of the moment finally ebbing off and allowing the freezing cold to seep into your bones. You shiver and wrap your arms around your body. Bloodhound stands, all the while their attention remains downward.

“You can leave it there.” You say, passing one more glance over the body before averting your gaze elsewhere. “If you want nothing from it, leave it for the birds. They could use the meal.” As if aware of their mention, the still-waiting scavengers call loudly from the tree-top. A raven answers with a caw and you look around to find many black birds scattered around the clearing. The birds do seem to follow their raven stranger everywhere they went. The wind howled through the desolate forest and you grimace upon thinking of returning to your empty house with such a shallow heart. The smell of blood lingers cruelly to your clothes, reminding you of what you had just witnessed. You had to think of something to keep your mind off it, thinking of your act for people, play your part until you finally were normal again. But your bar would not be open until at least noon and there was no one else who would be willing to distract you.

“Did you track it all the way here?” Your voice breaks the silence, your mind subconsciously switching to your more charming persona. They do not answer immediately.

“I sensed distress and followed its blood.” They weren’t giving you much to work off of and you shuffle in place.

“Then I suppose you will need a ride back?” This garners their attention and they turn to face you, the nerve of being under their masked gaze still sending jolts up and down your spine.

“I cannot accept your generosity again.” Bloodhound tries to talk you down but you scoff and lift a hand to silence them.

“Please, I won't be needed until lunch and I really don't mind.” Your tone successfully managed to hide that you had a third reason to be so insistent - you just hoped that they could not see the desperation in your face. They could. They take a moment to consider your offer, whatever expression lay under their mask you would never know. The raven to their left caws and they turn to look at it. It takes off after a final noise and Bloodhound lowers their head back to you - some secret understanding passing between bird and hunter.

“Then,” Bloodhound motions for you to lead the way, “By all means.” Though strained and almost painful, your first smile of the day pulls at your lips and you turn around to walk back to your house.

Bloodhound, as bizarre and strange as they were, never afforded you the opportunity to truly draw a defined picture of their personality. Wrapped so totally in mystery and gear, your perception of them was created on a flimsy base of shadows - beyond what they portrayed on T.V, you knew nothing of. But in the frozen forest of that Winter’s morning, something changed and you felt your world flip upside down onto its head.

Bloodhound was a lot more talkative on the way to their cabin than they had been the first time. Or any time really that you had interacted with them. It had started with you asking them the simple question of how they managed to track the injured elk and although their initial answer remained vague, a tangent soon manifested and from there the spiral began. To your utter surprise, and mild enjoyment, they proved themselves to be a great storyteller and had many wonderful and whimsical tales about their Gods and hunts that had made the drive over to their place seem almost too short.

“Most people stop me at this point.” Bloodhound commented, drawing a snicker from you as your eyes were glued to the ice-capped road ahead.

“Well, most people are not here. And I am very much enjoying myself. I love stories.” You could not see it, but your response brought a cracked smile to Bloodhound's hidden face.

By the time you had reached their cabin, they had entranced you in a tale about wolves and the true essence of the hunt. Though you thought your morning could not get any more surprising, Bloodhound steps out of your truck and extends an offer to share warm drinks with them inside. In the heart of Winter, you could not resist the temptation.

The interior of their cabin was much as you expected - totally unpredictable. It was like a bear and a machine had a fight, a complete subversion of everything you had come to know as normal. On the floor was a multitude of animal rugs, the couches too were draped with the furs of Bloodhound’s past, presumed, victories. Yet despite the clear aesthetic for ruggedness, a definite sense of modern order was showing through. The fireplace was quaint in its design but unmistakable retro. The furniture too, the chairs and tables, shelves and windows, were all of a very contemporary era. A perfect combination of the comforts of the past and the conveniences of the present. But all and all, the only word that came to your head when you first stepped in through their front door was - cozy.

Bloodhound leads you through their small cabin, past the living room, and into the small kitchen. They motion for you to take a seat at the wooden table in the center of the room and you marvel at the smells and sights around you. Hanging from strings draped across the walls were various herbs and spices and on the counter in bowls were fresh fruit and vegetables. They must have visited the town if this was their food supply and you feel a twinge of apprehension pluck at your light mood. You brush it off as Bloodhound asks if you would prefer tea or coffee.

“I find myself the one in honor of sharing breakfast with you this morning. Fair varning must be made, however,” Bloodhound extends a steaming cup towards you, “I have been told I am not the most accomplished of hosts.” You smile gratefully and take the cup into your shivering hands. The drink was shockingly and terribly bitter and you barely manage to hold back your gag at the first sip. Bloodhound snickers at your reaction and produces a tub of honey for you to add to your drink. “And that my tastes are mostly unagreeable.”

“Oh please,” You wheeze weakly after drowning your taste buds in the soothing honey, “This is nothing. Besides, I assume that, with your choice of isolation, you don’t particularly want to be anyone's host.” Bloodhound hums at your comment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with it. They pull up to the opposite chair and take a seat and you notice how their drink has a straw in it.

“I am not entirely opposed to indulging certain people. And even fewer dare to give my delights a try. Therefore I rather keep them to myself. I do, however, give special heed to those vho show interest in my stories.” This draws a smirk from your lips as you bring the hot liquid up to your mouth for another sip. Content silence passes through the room and you focus intently on the warmth now spreading through your hands and to the rest of your body. “I did not think that anyone vould be out on such a morning like this.” Bloodhound admits, causing you to slowly look at them and lower your cup.

“Most are too old or too busy to take time out of their day to notice these things, or to even care. And I do not do well in the cold. Today was a special exception.” At the mention of the temperature outside you quickly raise your cup to your mouth and down another gulp. When you open your eyes again, you finally notice the bird in the room who had before blended so seamlessly in with the other oddities of the kitchen. Sat on a perch made of carved wood to the left of Bloodhound was their signature raven. It tilts its head at your attention, letting out a meek calling before eyeing you up and down. Bloodhound must really like their raven friend if they were kind enough to invite them inside. The sight alone was enough to bring a bemused grin to your chapped lips and Bloodhound watched it all happen in mild fascination.

“Do you often listen to birds?” They ask, breaking you out of an almost trance and extending to their raven a piece of freshly sliced apple.

“It is not so strange.” You breathe a laugh, “It was what led me to finding you in the rain that first evening.” Bloodhound turns their disk-like lenses towards your face and wordlessly implores you to continue. Despite the warmth now residing in your bones, you still shiver under their daunting gaze. “Your friend I mean,” You motion to the raven who has also turned to look at you with its beady, brown eyes as if aware that it was the topic of conversation, “Its cries were all I could hear. Which is saying something, considering it was storming pretty hard.”

“I do not think it skrýtinn.” Bloodhound replies without missing a beat, their voice mellow and their words an alluring symphony of strange syllables, a true joy to listen to. “Just an uncommon trait in most people. And his name is Artur.” You pass the bird a look and slightly tip your head in acknowledgment of his name. He squawks and fluffs his chest feathers, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. Bloodhound smiles at the bird. “Ravens are the messengers of the Allfather. They guide and aid me on my hunts. I do not think it skrýtinn to listen to them. Only that someone else does also.”

“You give me too much credit.” You bashfully avert your gaze, dropping your eye level to the rim of your mug no longer steaming. “It has only been a few, very odd occasions. Mere coincidences if nothing else.” Bloodhound shrugs off your deflection, unpersuaded by your argument.

“Even so.” The room falls into a content stillness after their last comment and you are left wondering how you had even ended up here. On T.V, Bloodhound was a truly mysterious character, never talking or partaking in the more rowdy activities as the others did. Sure, you were not an avid watcher, but from what little time you had spent gazing at the screen, you had made Bloodhound out to be a vastly stoic, isolated person. And by all means, they had mostly proven themselves to be exactly that person, what with their initial reluctance to meet your extended friendliness and the way they had so precariously placed themselves on this mountain all alone. However, sitting now with them in their own house, you did not feel intruding or unwelcome. And the way they spoke to you, the ease of words and conversation, came as soft and comfortable as if from someone you had known before. From them, you could feel nothing but gentle amity.

“Do you hunt?” Bloodhound’s voice wafts through the air and to your ears, bringing your head up in a hum. You snicker, a twinge of embarrassment pulling at your chest.

“Not if I can help it. Though Andante did try, I simply cannot,” you inhale deeply through your nose, suddenly aware of the gaze trained attentively on you, “Find the strength to actually kill anything. Much to the dismay of my patrons.” This peaks Bloodhounds attention and they motion for you to explain yourself.

“Every year around the beginning of Summer, before the birth of the first lambs, the town gathers for a sort of Summer festival. With my bar being the sole provider of food and alcohol for such an event, it normally fell upon Andante to supply the people with a freshly killed elk. A make-shift banquet we would all share. Everyone has so much fun.” Your head drops and your shoulders give inwards.

“But with him gone, I doubt I would be able to give the people what they want. Last year I barely managed to scrape by, I had to do a lot of ass-kissing to get the more hardened townsfolk back on my side. But this year,” Your story fades and you sigh miserably, the relief of finally expressing this concern aloud only seeming to momentarily dull the growing sense of shame.

“It is stupid, I know.” You run a hand through your hair, the bubbling self-hatred in your stomach threatening to go overboard. You were oversharing again. A lot. But you could not find a way to stop. “But, what right do I have to take the life of an animal when I already have frozen meat stored in my fridge?” Strength wanes from your knees and you are glad to be sitting down - oh, you were definitely going to kick yourself over this one later. Perhaps staying at home all alone would have been the better option after all.

In the silence that followed your last words, you felt incredible judgment bare down upon your shoulders and you wanted nothing more than to shrink away from it. Under the menace that was your own self-scrutiny, you were unable to recognize that Bloodhound was not, in fact, judging you. From behind their goggles, they watched you closely, noticing the subtle shudder of your shoulders, the downward twinge of your head, and the way your eyes seem to have lost that burning. This was something that troubled you deeply and for a terribly long time as well. So instead of what might be predicted of them to feel or do, mainly berate you for your lack of spine in the face of their profession, Bloodhound only leaned back in their chair and their mind wondering on how best to help you.

“It is not about vhat is right or vhat is not.” Bloodhound finally speaks, their tone mellow and coaxing you to look up at them again. At your acknowledgment, they continue with their explanation. “The hunt is a matter of vill - the vill of the hunter and of their prey. If your vill as a hunter surpasses that of the prey's vill to live, then you have every right to take it.” They ball their hand into a fist in an expression of power, shaking it slightly for emphasis. “You as a hunter must have an unwavering ákveðni, and strong belief in your skills. Trust your veapons and abilities, know that you are verðugt of the hunt.” Their voice lowers and they watch you for any signs of apprehension or disagreement. You only manage to look at them, eyes an unreadable ocean of something at war. They bring their fist to their chest and hammer it hard on the fabric, an attempt to ignite passion from you.

“If the hunter is humble and honors the hunt, then they have every right to taka their prey. Reap their rewards. You must just believe yourself vorthy of it. I have already seen that you have the ability and skill. Your bow, through troubled, aimed sure. And your knife brought a swift death. Now…”

“Just need to practice it.” You finish their statement, your gaze drifting a thousand miles away. Sure their wisdom was easy to take, generous even given the circumstances, but your mind was too frazzled to digest even a single word. Worthy? Not someone who hides in the forest and plays pretend bar-keeper. Bloodhound could see how you hesitated at their words, not necessarily rejecting it but not truly considering them either. They felt the urge to lean in more, to keep talking and chipping away at your pseudo mask until finally, they struck home. What were you thinking right now? Why were you so disgruntled at the thought of being worth something?

“You listen but my vords are not heard. You disagree vith vhat I say?” Bloodhound asks, their arms folding over their torso as they sit themselves upright, alert to your every movement and utterance. At their question you stir, a tired laugh that sounds more like a sigh escaping your nose and your eyes dropping their gaze.

“No, not at all. I am just… surprised.” Your response is framed with quiet complacency, your expression shifting to one of meek placidness. Bloodhound could tell that you were retreating back inside yourself, falling behind curtains of a trained profession such as the first night they met you. No longer were you that desperate person standing in the woods over a kill they mourned, instead you were a fake silhouette of someone who once was. They frown, unsure why they felt so unhappy to watch you shrink away again. Without speaking, Bloodhound asks you to elaborate.

“Forgive my rudeness but,” Your eyes snap up again and Bloodhound sees nothing in them. “I don’t really know you. And what little I do know, well, is that you are a most proficient hunter of both man and beast.” A hand lifts to your chest and you laugh. “You have seen it all and must think I am most annoying. Yet,” You pause, Bloodhound hanging off every one of your words, “You are so kind to my troubles.”

“I do not hunt in the Apex Games to prove anything. I do it for my folk and for the Allfather. I am no better than any other hunter.” Bloodhound speaks plainly, their heart thumping in their chest and their stare never once leaving your face. You smile unknowingly under their attention and they stare at your weak imitation of the real thing. Your true smile was the one they saw whilst sitting on the grass with you or when they told you stories in the car. Right now, you were faking it. Pulling away from them. Returning once more to your charade of sensibility. Whatever genuineness they had somehow managed to draw out of you was waning and they could do nothing but look on as you slipped away from them.

“I didn't mean to offend.” You ease them, your words lacing themselves with accommodation. “Your people must be very proud of all your titles however. No denying that it is impressive regardless of your motive.” You chuckle lightly. Suddenly you frown and you tilt your head at them. “May I ask,” When they did not oppose, you continued, “Why are you here? On this planet I mean. Why are you not with your people?” Bloodhound looks on like a marble statue, hardly even breathing beneath all their armor. You worry you might have overstepped your boundary and you open your mouth to apologize but they quickly cut you off.

“My folk vould not understand my decisions. Nor vould they approve of most that I do.” You can tell that the conversation was over and the warmth your bitter, hot drink had offered you only minutes earlier faded with the atmosphere. You nod in resignation.

“Then,” You say, standing and bowing your head in anticipated gratitude, the raven stranger’s attentive gaze not once shifting off your form, “I look forward to the Winter when I do not hear your Artur's call.”

“Oh my sweet, gentle Bar-keep, I am in need of your assistance!” Your eyes snap upwards from their work of stacking away cleaned glasses and you cannot help but grin at the one calling you. Seated at a table in the middle of your bar was a very drunk Thomas waving you over in exaggerated and hurried movements. He rocked backward in his seat and nearly looked as if he would fall over. You sigh and think it better to listen to him, lest your bar never know quiet again for the remainder of the evening. You step out from behind your bar table and carefully stroll over to him, a playfully condescending expression plastered to your face. Thomas beams a lop-sided smile and extends his hand, which you ignore and instead pat him lightly on his shoulder. He hums and overlaps your hand with his own seemingly unperturbed by your refusal.

“Ah my dear,” Thomas hiccups, swaying slightly in place despite being perfectly still, “Do not worry. I have not called you here to cause trouble. I just could not bear to see you stand behind your bar so lonely. I simply had to call you here. So troubled and worried over something.” Thomas squeezes your hand lightly and you roll your eyes at his obnoxious and misplaced concern.

“Though his words are slurred, they come from a genuine place.” From across the table, the farmer Mallory spoke. She offers you a sympathetic smile and silently apologies for her friend’s unruly behavior. Her heavy arms fold defensively over her large chest and she scowls at Thomas who sheepishly chuckles under her glare, retracting his hand and shrinking away slightly. Mallory sighs and looks to you again, the same concern that claimed her companion now sprinkled into her brown eyes. “You look a thousand years away tonight. What has upset you so?”

The two patrons turn their attention onto you and you gently shrug off their worries with a mild hand wave and flash of your smile. “You are looking for smoke signals when there is none, Mallory. And Mr. Thomas, you are concerned over the wrong things. You should be more concerned about returning to your own home before it gets too dark and I have to phone Rohan to come fetch you again.” Though the woman remains unmoved by your deflection, Thomas scoffs and shakes his head.

“Rohan’s bed will stay warm regardless of where I am. And he would excuse whatever lateness I cause if he had also seen how,” he stutters, his fingers flexing as he tried feebly to grasp at words that would not come, “ sad you look tonight.” You let out a tired laugh at the drunk fisherman’s antics and punch lightly at his shoulder.

“I assure you, my ‘sad looks’ are merely just that. Looks.” You gesture to the various empty beer glasses scattered around the table and after a nod from Mallory, you begin to place them on a tray to take back to the kitchen to be washed. “How ever could I be sad when I have your fine company to make my evenings so noisy?” This draws a cackle from the bitter woman, who relishes in your pecking at the man. Thomas gasps and feigns hurt under your judgments, a teasing hand placing pitifully over his broken heart.

It was all a lie, of course. There was some deep sincerity to your sadness that evening and it was not over Thomas’ painful crooning. Try as you might, your mind could not rid itself from the events that had occurred only the day before. What had happened with Bloodhound plagued your every waking moment. During the more lively hours of the day, when your bar was packed with singing, intoxicated patrons, you thankfully had a very loud and engrossing distraction. But now, as the evening winded down and the last table still waited to be cleared, your mind was awash with bitter thoughts.

It was all going so well, they had been so welcoming and friendly and you sat in their home confident and assured. They had shared in you their many stories and experiences, pulling you deeper into a conversation than you had ever been with them. And yet the moment you opened your mouth, allowed it to run unchecked and unguarded, the walls came down and the party ended. You were a fool, you kicked yourself. A damn, stupid fool for allowing yourself to speak so freely. To express to them a most sensitive part of yourself that not even your bathroom mirror had known. It was because of your inability to keep yourself in line that caused the rift to tear and now separate you from the person of your interest. Bloodhound told you such wonderful stories and now you were sure they would never want to speak to you again.

But you put on your brave face and pretend as if nothing is wrong. And that is true, of course. Nothing is wrong. Your life was fine before their intrusion and it shall be fine thereafter. The show must and will go on. Eventually, forced routine will become natural again and you will slip back into ease and complicit quietness. You will learn to move on and most certainly, so will they. If ever, you doubted greatly, you even left that much of an impact on them and all their glory.

“It is because you are so lonely, that's why you are so sad.” Thomas chimes, drawing both yours and Mallory’s attention back on him. He hums with content and leans back in his chair, sure that if he had a beard he would be stroking it thoughtfully. “We must find you someone to work with. Someone you can boss around and pull on their ear.” He winks at you and you smirk back, playing into his needful childishness.

“This is not the dark ages, Mr. Thomas.” You tease, taking your loaded tray to the bar counter and speaking over your shoulder. “We do not arrange marriages anymore.” The fisherman jeers and Mallory kicks him under the table. You return to them quickly, bringing with you a wet cloth and a glass of water requested by the woman. She presses it to Thomas’ face and commands him to sober up.

“Then how else are we supposed to get you hitched?” Thomas continues, paying no heed to the violent death stares of the woman sat across from him. Mallory kicks him again and he nearly spills his drink from the movement. You grin at the two of them, stepping back from the freshly wiped table with your arms folded over your chest.

“People don't need to be with others to be happy. I am perfectly content with myself as company.” You announce with your nose pointed in the air. “And you, as occasional annoyances.” The man chokes on his drink and Mallory snorts at your comment. You decide to continue playing along, matching their extended friendliness with your own enthusiasm.

“Y’know, I always thought it a vile rumor that fishermen were mad people.” You joke, taking the cloth and wringing it out before throwing it over your shoulder. “Nothing to do all day but sit in boats and think. But with every word you speak, my dear Thomas, I begin to believe that the rumor has some truth behind it." This arouses a snicker from the woman farmer and she shakes her head in amusement over you and disappointment for her friend. Thomas whines a noise that does not sound like any language you would know and Mallory leans forward.

"Finish your drink, my friend. I will see you home tonight." She urges the glass of water to his attention. "I cannot bear to watch you be torn apart any longer." Thomas darts his eyes between Mallory and you, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish out of water. You smugly smile at him, charming with all the beauty and grace of a snake. After a moment he relents, slumping down into his seat with a defeated huff, the water glass in hand.

“I swear, that mouth of yours,” Thomas moans into his glass weakly as if greatly wounded on a battlefield, “It is more vicious than any beast I’ve come across. Godspeed to anyone who dares to try to face such a monster.” At his last comment, you exhale loudly through your nose and shake your head dismissively. With one final look from Mallory, you leave the two late-evening patrons to finish their drinks and return to your work behind the bar.

The mood in the bar is somewhat lighter now and your hands worked at an easier pace with your mind quietly wondering over Thomas’ words. This was not the first time you had been scolded over your sharp words and you were sure it would not be your last. Conversation was your master and you were always one quick with your words, whether that be for the better or worse. Over the sound of you wiping down plates and glasses with a cloth, you could hear Thomas and Mallory talking faintly, the wind whispering outside your walls, and the gentle nothing of the world beyond. It was a peaceful evening, much more so now that you had dealt with your rowdy patron and the thoughts that curled like rats in a drowning cage. Though his comments were unnecessary, you thank Thomas for his distraction and for his unwitting lifting of your spirits. At least now you would be able to sleep soundly and with less of a worried mind.

Suddenly, a knock at the front door. Curious, unsure if it had even happened, you cast your attention over to it. It was far too late for anyone wanting to pop in for a drink and even if it was you were sure to turn them away. But still; there was no denying that you had, in fact, heard something. Or someone. Wordlessly, you slip out from your bar and quickly stroll to the door, pulling it swiftly open to reveal a cold night and a strange visitor.

“Oh,” You mumble, blinking numbly like a star-struck owl. You shake your head and revive your best smile to be planted on your lips. “What a lovely surprise.”

Standing before you, Bloodhound tipped their helmet, specks of accumulated snow falling off in the process. “Good evening,” They respond formally.

“And to you.” You nod back, familiar shivers running up and down your spine as you stood under their gaze. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” You swoon, curling your words with over-exaggerated sweetness so as to hopefully hide your utter shock at their being here. They always seem to have a knack for popping back into your life when you least expected it. But now of all time, why?! You could hardly even look at them straight after what had happened not even the day before! Fresh embarrassment boiled in our stomach and you wanted nothing more but to go back into your quiet existence. This had to be some cruel dream from a most hateful deity, cursing you out for some horrible act you had unwittingly done. Why could they not just go back to being a figure on the T.V, an unknown? Why did they have to be here, standing before you, talking to you?!

“I vish to speak with you.” Bloodhound says, voice terribly low and near-emotionless. It caught you off guard slightly at how plain and devoid of anything they sounded, nothing at all like the passionate hunter you sat and drank with yesterday.

“My bar will be closed soon.” You explain after a moment of debating on what to say. A strong part of you begged for an excuse to say no, the refusal even gracing the tip of your tongue in eager desperation. But your hospitality overrode your anxiety and you stepped to the side to allow entry into your bar. “If you do not mind waiting a few minutes then you will have my undivided attention.”

Bloodhound considers your words, eyes darting between your face and the warm interior of the business. They too notice how your own words seem guarded this evening, jaded behind bars of entertainment and false care. You smiled, yes, but it was not genuine. Again, you reeked of fakeness and it irked them for some unknown reason. They hum their agreement and stride quickly inside. Upon their entrance, two faces turn to look at them.

You shuffle between Bloodhound and the skeptical table, closing the door and guiding your new patron over to the bar. They follow closely behind you and seat themselves on a red cushion stool. You resume your position as host and perform your duties accordingly, offering them something to drink while they wait. Bloodhound silently refused, only lifting their hand and shaking their head.

“I don’t think I mentioned it before,” You say, works trickling out like a spring in a dessert, soothing all worries with a trained presentation. “A while ago we had a fellow pass through our humble town who had a similar accent to yours. He was a swindler and tried to persuade me to purchase from him strange pickled meats and other strange things.” While you spoke, you resumed your wiping of the glasses and plates, talking over your shoulder as you worked in a most casual manner.

“Though everyone tried to steady my hand, he just was so compelling and I caved. And now I have, stored in the back for the foreseeable future, a bottle of the most potent alcohol anyone has ever seen.” Your face softens into a smile as you recall the memories of that night when a brave soul tried to drink from that poison. “Someone once tried and no one has since. Perhaps it is a drink you know?” You cock your question at Bloodhound, leaning over the bar table and grinning.

“Your intuition values you, but perhaps another night I can provide you an answer.” You take Bloodhound dismissal with grace and nod your head in swift acknowledgment. They were cold tonight, the very definition of stoic. Whatever they wanted to discuss with you, you could only hope would somehow be more lighthearted than this. From behind the hunter, movement erupts as the two patrons stand up.

“We are off, my dear Bar-Keep.” Thomas sings, waving a hand at you in an irritating manner. Mallory follows close as they make their way to the front door, her eyes practically burning holes into the raven stranger’s dead-straight back. She passes you a flash of a concerned look and you calm her down with a cool smile.

“Have a good night and a safe journey home.” You call after them, mildly glad that now your ears would know rest from the fisherman’s chanting. However, as his hands grace the front door’s handle, Thomas quickly spins on his heels and points towards you and your new arrival.

“Don’t you dare try anything with my Bar-keep!” Thomas threatens, standing with his hackles raised like a chihuahua to a bear, “If I hear that you have touched even a single hair, so help me I’ll-”

“Thomas.” Mallory punches the man's shoulder causing him to drop his ill-backed threat and wince in pain. Without a moment more, the farmer shoves the man out the door and the two disappear into the night with the door closely swiftly behind. You stare after them, the atmosphere suddenly seeming to shrink and grow cold as you become painfully aware of your aloneness with the hunter.

“They seem nice.” Bloodhound remarks and you are so stunned by their nonchalant attitude you nearly snort.

“It is a small town. Everyone here is like family.” You explain, turning to face those unreadable, immovable lenses. “Besides, I serve him beer. I get special privileges.” At this Bloodhound seems to stir and you feel slightly more room to breathe. Relax, it was just conversation. Don’t get carried away again and you will be fine.

The conversation halted, however, neither you nor Bloodhound knowing what next to say to break the forming ice that had started growing between you two. Though you wanted to know what exactly had compelled them to travel all the way to visit you on such an odd evening, you could tell that they were not ready to answer so instead you plucked random topics from the top of your head.

“Winter is moving slowly this year,” You begin, regaling the exact dialogue you had shared that afternoon prior with a patron and reusing it word for word, “No big snow storms as of yet. But that just means that towards the end of the season, Mother Nature will rear her true head and drive us all inside our houses.” You sigh and rest your elbow on the tables’ surface, your busy work of drying cutlery all finished and packed away. “Many people tell me, warn me in fact, that the late-season storms are the worst kinds. Impossible snow and hail and everything else to make the shit pie complete. And I thought the cold now is hard to handle. I have no idea how I’ll-”

“Stop that.” Bloodhound interrupts you harshly, their voice an almost growl as they sit behind their undecipherable armor. You are slightly taken aback by their outright force at the command, flashbacks to the first time you met them in all their rage reappearing in your mind. Bloodhound remains still, fists clenched over the table, shaking beneath the heavy red fabric gloves.

Though you cannot see, they squeeze their eyes shut in an effort to understand why, so suddenly, they were getting so worked up. Why were you just talking to them? So nonchalant and practiced - it felt as if talking to them was a chore. Some kind of business transaction or task that was only being done as a means to an end. But that is not what muddled Bloodhound’s mind, not your lack of genuine interaction, your quiet was not what drove them out of their house and to your bar this evening. What made them toil in confused agony, was why they even cared so much for your genuine company?

“What?” You murmur after a minute of stale silence, the wind picking up the rising atmosphere inside the bar and clawing at the windows to join in. The raven stranger does not respond right away, instead they fight with what words would be best used in this kind of delicate situation.

“Stop that.” They repeat their vague statement sternly, staring at you through their goggles with great intent, noticing any slight change in your features or body language. “Stop trying to sell me your company. I do not vant it.” At this you frown and straighten your back, confused beyond anything at what they could mean. You open your mouth to speak but Bloodhound stops you with a raised hand.

“You talk but there is no life. You smile but there is no light behind it. Do you think I am not worthy of your trueness? I have seen your true self but always you hide it. Do you think you are not worthy of enjoying yourself?” Utterly and so completely shocked at what was being said, you stood wordless with your face a mix between anger and bewilderment. Bloodhound watched you, eyes scanning up and down your form for any signs of egregious discontent. Why weren’t you speaking? Why weren’t you reacting in any way? Had their visit and accusations not even struck a nerve with you? You only stood there, placid and unwavering, like ice waiting for the sun to melt it.

“I have talked vith this free person, sat in silence vith them and felt þægilegt , calm. And I came here this evening because…” Bloodhound falters at this, unsure at what best to say when describing the reason they themselves still had no answer to. Why had they come here to bother you? Why had you not left their thoughts since yesterday, or even, since that afternoon on the grass? Why is it that when the world goes quiet and they stand still to listen, it is you who looms in the corner of their vision, beckoning for them to find you? In such a short time of meeting, somehow you had trapped them in some unforeseen and unbreakable cage - an ever-present urge to lean in more, to seek you out. But why, exactly, it was you of all people who had proclaimed that spot of interest, was a mystery that the Allfather cruelly hid from them.

“Vhat is it you vant from me?” Bloodhound lowly asks, their tone hollow and their demeanor stone-cold. Perhaps that was the reason for their spontaneous visit - to search for an answer themselves. To find out if maybe you felt at all the same way they did.

“Nothing.” The words leak from your lips like a whisper yet hold the strength and bite of a scream. Devoid of all anger, hostility, confusion, and regret, you gaze back at the raven stranger, “What ever could I possibly want from you?” And there it was - their answer.

“Now if that is all you came to ask me, then I must now say good night.” You motion with your attention towards the door, still shell-shocked over what had just transpired. Why are they so angry towards you? So taken aback by, what you were sure to be, great and comforting hospitality? This was the reason you had so ardently avoided opening yourself up to people, allowing yourself to talk unchecked often leads to situations where people get angry. And now Bloodhound was angry and you were sure you could never fix it.

The raven stranger slowly rises from their seat, tipping their helmet in a stiff manner before silently making their way over to the front door. This is how it will be, forever. You made a mistake, let your mouth have free rein over your conversations, and brought ruin to a person that made your chest ache. And as you watched them slip away into the snowy night, the only thing you can say was, “Have a safe journey home.”

#man i am aso tired #but i must post #for the horn kneeee #if you are reading my tags friends #thank you #i love you uwu #and i cannot thank you enough for taking time out of your day to read this hot garbage i post #apex legends bloodhound #bloodhound x reader #apex legends fic #apex legends x reader #bloth hondr

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svu-ncis-criminalminds · 5 years ago

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5 times Hotch didn’t kiss you and 1 time he did

Request : Hotch x bau reader where the reader is in her 20s and has no clue that Hotch’s feelings for her are mutual?

I decided to write this in the format of 5+1 so here is 5 times Hotch didn’t kiss you and 1 time he did.

For once a case ended in the most favorable way possible and the mood was light on the flight back to Quantico. You sat across from Reid, a chessboard between you, and Reid sat beside Hotch, Rossi was across from him. JJ, Prentiss, and Morgan were sitting around the other table, talking and joking. You and Reid were arguing semantics, you were trying to cheat at chess.

Hotch watched you laugh and couldn’t help but smile slightly himself at your joy. It wasn’t often you all smiled, he was going to allow himself. To enjoy it.

“Chess isn’t about trying to find loopholes, Y/N.” Reid groaned and you laughed. “Rossi, tell her,” Rossi shook his head, flipping a page of the book he was reading.

“Fight amongst yourselves, don’t drag me into this.”

“I’m not trying to find loopholes,” You grinned. Your eyes lit up when you smiled like that and for once you actually look your age. “I’m just saying the rules aren’t clear. Maybe they’re intentionally vague.” Hotch chuckled and you turned your head, a smile still big to look at him. He found himself wishing you were sitting across from him instead of Reid. And perhaps you weren’t on a plane, but instead, a nice dinner sat between you. And you’d be smiling at his words like that.

You looked away from him back to the board in front of you. That was the first time Hotch ever thought about kissing your lips. He shook the thought from his head, that was inappropriate, you were his subordinate and you were so young. Hotch broke his eyes from you and looked ahead to Rossi who was already staring back at him with a knowing look.

The unsub was unhinged, gun in hand and a little girl held in his free arm, keeping her between Hotch and his torso. She was crying and he was ranting and raving, and Hotch was trying to talk him down in some capacity. The unsub, a mechanic and serial murderer named Paul Crossley was too frantic to pay attention to his back, and Hotch was as you and Morgan crept up behind him, guns up.

“Crossley put the gun down!” Morgan yelled out firmly. The next events happened too quickly. Crossley spun, scared to be taken from behind and dropped the girl he was holding, finger twitching involuntarily. One-shot rang out followed immediately by a second one and two people fell.

Hotch was running before he even knew if it was safe to run because it wasn’t Morgan whose body had collapsed. Hotch ran past the unsub who was now lying in a pool of his own blood, he even ran past the child he had tossed aside. He dropped to his knees beside Morgan who was already hovering over you. There was no blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” You spoke and Hotch felt relief flood him. “It hit my vest,” Then He was using his own hands to unclasp your bulletproof vest from you.

“Hotch,” Morgan warned slightly. But you were already struggling to sit, wanting out of it just as much. It’s amazing how something that could save your life could immediately become suffocating once it did it.

“Are you alright?” He finally allowed himself to ask, knelt beside you as you caught your breath. Hotch wanted to grab you and pull you to him and feel that you were solid, that you were alive and okay. But Morgan was right here, you were surrounded by a flurry of cops and he could. Instead, he settled for helping you to your feet and out of the building to the waiting ambulance.

That was the second time Aaron Hotchner wanted to kiss you.

JJ had insisted and insisted for close to two months prior. She wanted to spend Thanksgiving together on the closet date to Thanksgiving that your caseload would allow. That’s why three days after the holiday you were all going to JJ’s house for dinner.

Hotch knocked, holding his store-bought pie as he allowed himself a moment of discomfort before entering. He has grown to value this time with all of you, the time where you weren’t coworkers but a group of friends too. However, it was also these times where he felt most tempted by you and that made Aaron feel guilty. The door opened and Garcia grinned, adorned in some Thanksgiving-themed outfit. Hotch couldn’t help but laugh.

Garcia ushered him in and took the pie making a joke about the label and plastic container the pie was in.

“Don’t you own any casual clothes?” You asked, appearing in front of Hotch with a glass of wine in one hand and a glass of scotch being offered to him in the other. Hotch took the drink and shrugged slightly.

“Thanksgiving was always a formal event for my family.” He responded and you nodded sipping your wine. He looked at you, he wanted to tell you how nice you looked wearing jeans and a sweater rather than your usual work garb. You were casual and effortless.

Dinner was fun, though Aaron wouldn’t use that phrase out loud willingly. You sat beside him at the dinner table, drinking wine and laughing. Your face was slightly flushed and you were tipsy, making jokes with Reid and Garcia. JJ brought out a homemade apple pie along with the now pathetic looking supermarket pie Hotch had brought. He briefly felt embarrassed, first for his pie than for being embarrassed about something so trivial.

“Okay who wants apple,” Aaron watched as most of the table raised their hand, but not you.”

“I want pumpkin,” You spoke up, reaching across the table to snag the whipped cream, “It’s Thanksgiving, you have to have pumpkin.” Hotch smiled to himself. He knew you didn’t know how much that meant to him, and he felt ridiculous that it did.

“I’ll have pumpkin as well,” Hotch responded. The pie was passed out and Hotch allowed himself to watch you fondly as you covered your pie completely with whipped cream before passing it. You were cute, whipped cream dripping down your chin, you wiped it with your hand. You turned your head and caught Hotch’s eye and he almost blushed getting caught looking at you. But you smiled like always and continued to eat his store-bought pumpkin pie.

More much more than the third time Aaron wanted to grab you and kiss you, he wanted to spend many more Thanksgiving with you.

Hotch’s doorbell rang and he frowned, it was late and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He turned the burner off and left the kitchen going to his front door and peering through the peephole. You stood on his front stoop looking nervous, biting your nail as you waited for him to answer.

“Y/L/N?” Hotch asked, opening the door worried. You looked surprised and he frowned. “Y/N. What’s wrong?” Aaron wanted to grab you and pull you inside. He wanted to know what was doing this to you so he could go after it, instead, he waited in silence for you to talk. You stared ahead for a moment before taking a deep breath and looking up at Aaron with big sad eyes.

“Can I come in?” You finally asked and Hotch nodded stepping back and allowing you into his house. Aaron's house felt like an extension of him and you found it calming. “I’m sorry to come here like this, it’s late. I’m- I just..” You couldn’t find the right words but it didn’t matter you didn’t need them for Hotch to know.

“Sit,” Hotch’s voice was gentle, not his normal stern work voice. “Do you want a drink? Unfortunately, I think I only have water and coffee. Scotch if you want it.” You looked up at him then, tears welling in your eyes, and Hotch nodded, going to get the scotch bottle and two glasses. Hotch sat beside you on the sofa, placing a glass in front of you and pouring a few fingers worth of scotch. You sat and silence and drank for a moment before you signed and put the glass down, hands fidgeting.

“Talk to me, that’s why you came here.” He was right.

“Does it ever get better?” You asked, and Aaron found himself wishing you were here with almost every other question. Because while he lied to himself and you in proxy, every day about how he feels, he couldn’t lie about this.

“No.” You nodded your head looking back down at the glass in front of you.

“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.” You whispered. Hotch thought about it for a moment before placing a hand on your arm and squeezing.

“That doesn’t mean we stop.” Aaron whispered while taking a swig of his drink, “It doesn’t mean we stop, Y/N. We will never catch them all. But that doesn’t mean we give up before we can save the ones we can.” You nodded slightly, “And it won't get better, they will keep finding new ways to kill we cannot control that. The only thing we can control is how we process it.”

“What do you mean?”

“A man I respect very much once reminded me of the importance of having something to take us away from all of this. His was comedy, old Charlie Chaplin movies.” He paused to give you a small sad smile, “You have to find your thing, Y/N, your light in this and you need to let it help you heal. Because if the job ever stops hurting, it’s time to walk away.” You nodded your head blinking away one more stray tear. Hotch poured you each other drink, offering his glass out to you, you clinked yours against his.

“Cheers.” You smiled.

“Cheers,” Hotch replied, watching you take a sip. He felt sad. Maybe he should have said something else, told you that you were too young that you shouldn’t have to see the things you see on the regular. He wanted to tell you how he saw it weighing on you and he didn’t like that.

“Thank you,”

“Your welcome.” Hotch wanted to pull you to him and kiss away the pain on your face and the frown on your lips. But once again he didn’t, mentally citing to himself the exact passage in the FBI handbook that prevents him from dating subordinates.

“I want Reid here to help me with the Geographic profile, take Y/N to Greene to question Poplawski.” Rossi stopped briefly to throw a knowing look at Aaron, “It’s a 3-hour drive, think of it as a gift.”

“Don’t,” Hotch ordered, voice dark and brows furrowed. “I will call when we get there.” Hotch turned and walked swiftly from the room approaching you and Reid, “Y/N with me, were going to see Poplawski.”

“On death row?” You asked, surprised. Hotch nodded and you put the papers you were holding down and grabbing the Poplawski file before following him out of the police station you were working out of. Hotch led you to an unmarked state SUV getting in the driver's seat, and you got in on the passenger side. The first part of the ride was quiet, you were rereading the file and Hotch was alternating between keeping his eyes on the road and glancing at you in the mirror.

“How’s Jack?” The question was sudden and it took Hotch off guard.

“What?” You glanced up, shrugging slightly.

“Sorry if that’s inappropriate.” you shrugged slightly, “I saw he got new school pictures, you updated the one you keep on your desk I just-” You shrugged again, “Thought I’d ask.”

“He’s good.” Hotch replied, swallowing hard and trying to relax into the conversation, “doing very well in school this year, and he’s joined the soccer team at school.” Hotch didn’t talk about Jack much besides with his ex-wife. It was nice, he smiled.

“You must be proud, he’s a good kid.” You nodded, closing the file. You made other small talk on the drive, nothing particular, nothing deep. It was one of the most calming experiences Aaron had in a while. You were surprisingly easy to talk to, maybe it was because you were a good listener or because you were always honest with your words and spoke what was on your mind. Either way, Hotch loved talking to you. He looked at you in the mirror as you opened the file again, this time reading this aloud so you could come up with a game plan.

Hotch listened to you speak and watched you as the sunlight lit you up. It was moments like this Hotch wanted to say damn it all and pull the car to the side of the road just to kiss your lips. But right now people’s lives relied on you getting there promptly so once again he held himself back.

And the 1 where he does...

You’d gotten home early from your latest case, and JJ had yet to brief you on another one. While some of your co-workers took this as an opportunity to go home early and relax, you were doing the opposite. It was a quarter after 7 and you had spent the entire day catching up and trying to get ahead on what paperwork you could get ahead on. You’d seen Hotch once or twice so you knew he was still around somewhere.

When you were finished with your last paper you looked up to his office. The blinds were closed but the light was still on so you gathered your files and got up. You knocked on the door and waited for the familiar ‘come in’ before entering.

“Y/N, what are you doing here still, we got home hours ago.” You gestured with the big pile of folders in your heads.

“Catching up and getting head while I had the chance.” You smiled and Hotch reached his hand out to accept the papers. You walked to him handing it over before lingering in front of his desk. When you were around him it took a lot for you to pull yourself away and you always found yourself looking for excuses to be near your boss. It was terrible.

“Why are you still here?” You asked, arms crossing over your chest, Hotch leaned back in his chair looking at you.

“Paperwork as well,” Hotch gestured, “If I get behind it’s an impossible task to get caught up.” You nodded.

“We had a long week, you deserve an early night.” Hotch chuckled.

“I don’t get early nights, Y/N.” You shrugged and nodded shifting your weight on your feet. There was a moment of silence and you made eye contact with Hotch. He looked at you funny for a moment. You tilted your head.

“What?” Hotch stood up from behind your desk and you remained standing with your arms crossed, looking confused. He moved so he was standing in front of you, looking at you like that still. Your heart rate began to rise.

“May I..” He cleared his throat, “May I try something entirely inappropriate?” You didn’t need to be a profile to see Hotch’s eyes flicker between yours and your lips. Your breath caught and you nodded slightly. Aaron closed the distance placing his lips firmly on yours. You unfolded your arms and allowed your hands to rest on his chest. He deepened the kiss and you leaned closer as his hands gripped your waist. You broke the kiss but didn’t move away.

“I didn’t know you.. Felt like that?” You whispered and Aaron moved a hand up to push your hair behind your ear.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that for a long time.” He murmured in return, lips brushing yours again, you smiled.

“Well now's your chance,” With that Aaron leaned in again, kissing you deeply and hoping his kiss could say what his words never could.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #5+1 fic #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch imagine #request

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

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innocence - 24

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: none

A/N: i took three weeks to post, i am very sorry but i’ll now be posting the holiday chapters i was supposed to but i got lost in eating mince pies. hope you enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

- Bucky, what are you doing? - Y/N smirked as she returned from set, still dressed in a scandalous dress covered by a beige rain coat. Small droplets of water covered the beige waterproof fabric which rolled onto the ground as she made her way further into the small flat.

Bucky was sat in bed, looking at a pile of clothing thrown next to an open old military green rucksack by his feet. A few worn out brown leathered tags we attached to one of the handles and had she been wearing her glasses, she could’ve probably guessed what it was written on them. The brown haired man rose his head at the mention of his name, eyes widening at what she was wearing. He was used to seeing her in tight, revealing dresses but this dress was something else and he wondered how she could walk with such a skin tight garment.

- I’m just deciding what to pack. - he shrugged, trying to forget about the dress his girlfriend was wearing.

- Just pack warm. - she sat next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder, an immediate smile extending in her limps. - Mum said it might snow. Can you imagine, a white Christmas?

- Did they give you a bad time on set?

A bad time? A bad time was an understatement. She had gotten an earful from everyone who passed by her that day from her manager to her personal assistant to even Mr. Hayworth who just screamed about how stupid she was. Even half the cast was upset, not enjoying the publicity it would bring to the movie and while she would normally end up crying in her trailer, Chuck ensured to follow her around to make sure she was alright. Yet, none of it matter. It was the last day of shooting before she got to go home to her parents and forget about the mess she had willingly created. It was only a day before she could spend the holidays with someone who chose her and kept choosing her for the first time. It really didn’t matter if she had a bad time, things were starting to look up for her.

- Other than the stripper dress? Not as bad. - she giggled. Bucky looked at her, trying to peak through the coat. - I was thinking ... maybe we should have a nice long bath together? I’ll light some candles, get some nice wine from the shop down the street.

- You little vixen, I still have to go see my sister. If I take a bath with you I will end up staying much more time than I should. - Bucky kissed the side of her face. - Did you wear that dress just to tempt me?

- I would never. It is not my fault you cannot control yourself.

- That dress is staying until I come back, though.

- I want to come. - she got up from the bed, pulling the dress from her body and grabbing her white jumper and pair of jeans from the wardrobe. - You’re meeting my family, it’s only fair I meet yours.

- I’ve told you already, princess. We don’t wanna poke the media, they’ll bite us back with no mercy. I don’t want people hurting you because of me.

- You can’t sneak me into a care home? My, my, Mr. Barnes, I thought you could get anyone into anywhere. Your CV said so.

- Are you doubting my abilities, princess? - he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closing to him before starting to tickle her sides. - It’ll be boring to you, my princess. Just stay here, put back that tight little dress and I’ll make it worth your time.

- No way. I’m meeting your sister.

- No baby pictures, Y/N.

- I would never. - she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hard felt yet soft kiss. - Only childhood stories.

Bucky rolled his eyes, handing her the jacket and hat as they made their way onto a taxi. Bucky visited his sister a lot but he’d never mentioned Y/N. Not that he didn’t want to, of course he did. In all honesty, he could speak about his girl for as long as someone allowed him. However, Y/N was still a public personality and he wouldn’t want to let something out that she wasn’t comfortable with people knowing. Besides, he knew how much his sister still adored to gossip and he wouldn’t want to possibly hurt Y/N or be the cause.

She, on the other hand, was excited. She knew Steve and Steve was the oldest of Bucky’s friends but she never thought she would get to meet someone from his family or that he’d even want to introduce her to someone from his family. After all, he was a war hero and Y/N was an actress from a small town in London who everyone seemed to despise at the moment.

The man drove them up to small complex building of what seemed to be newly built flats. Bucky was the first one off the taxi, running up to her side so he could open the door. It always left her feeling like a school girl; the pageantry, it is. She never believed she would find someone and the fact someone rushed to go and open the door for her and held his hand out.

- Anything you’d like to confess before I ask your sister? - Y/N teased, hugging him side eyes as he led her to the entrance.

- Do not believe what she says, I did not date too many girls.

- Steve disagrees with that.

- How would you know what Steve agrees or disagrees with?

- I called him to wish him happy holidays.

- I didn’t know you and Steve were friendly.

- Don’t be jealous, love. I’m not stealing your best friend. - Y/N pinched his cheek playfully as the two of them stopped in front of a wooden door with the number 35 in gold numbers pinned to it.

Bucky knocked on the door, announcing himself before holding Y/N once again close to him. He went through his mind, wondering if there was anything Rebecca could tell which would upset her. Sure, he used to be a bit of a womaniser in his youth but Y/N knew that. He hadn’t gotten anyone pregnant, he hadn’t proposed and ran off, he was off the hook. Still, he didn’t like the idea of Becca telling Y/N about his past quests.

Y/N waited patiently until someone held the door. The first thing she noticed were her eyes, the same as Bucky’s and she could recognise them anywhere. The woman had perfectly styled grey hair and a smile on her lips as she recognised her brother.

- Who is this lovely girl, Buck? You didn’t tell me you’d bring company, I would’ve gotten some biscuits.

- This is Y/N, she’s my girlfriend.

- Steve told me you were seeing someone, I just didn’t think she’d be this pretty. Come in, come in. - Becca grabbed Y/N away from Bucky leading her to the living room. - What you wanted is in the bedroom, Buck.

- Behave. - Bucky told his sister before he went into the bedroom to look for what he had come in from.

- I have some photos I think you’d love to see, darlin’. - she pointed the couch for Y/N to sit in before waddling to the big mahogany bookcase. She had a huge collection of books from old classics to new contemporary masterpieces which Y/N would love to read someday. The house itself was cozy, way more comfortable than other care homes she’d seen but she guessed Bucky would’ve only allowed for the best for his little sister. - It’s been ages since I’ve seen one of Bucky’s girlfriends. Not that he used to bring them home, but I used to sneak in and take a peak. You’re definitely the prettiest of all of them.

- Thank you. - Y/N couldn’t help but feel her cheeks heat up.

- Ah, there it is. - she dropped a photo album on Y/N’s lap. - My father gave my mother a photo camera and she went crazy with it. Too many photos. However, when Bucky was born, it was a special occasion. Dad used to say she wanted a professional photo taken with her Jamie.

She pointed at a photo of an woman probably in her early 20s holding a baby wrapped in several blankets, accompanied by a man who Bucky resembled very much. Her fingers traced the face of the baby, a little smile forming on her lips. It was nice to see him like that, normal. No mentions of the Winter Soldier, no pain, none of her constant drama due to her profession.

- He was the eldest of four and despite what my mother would say, he was always the favourite. The only boy. He got away with whatever he wanted.

- Bucky has three siblings?

- Three sisters. Some of them didn’t survive. It was war. - her voice softened with sadness as she turned the page for a photo that Y/N wasn’t expecting to see. The same woman from before, his mother, was hugging a shirtless Bucky who had some boxing gloves on. Her face contorted into curiosity as Bucky exited the room and leaned against the couch, standing next to the two women.

- What are you two ladies looking at? - Bucky kissed Y/N’s head, putting his hand on her shoulder.

- I think Y/N is very curious about your welterweight boxing past.

- You did boxing?

- Princess, I was a three-time YMCA Welterweight boxing champion. - Bucky closed the album before any of the photos of him with some of the ladies he used to hang around with showed up. - Becca, we should get going. We have an early flight tomorrow.

- You need to bring her more often. - Rebecca got up from the couch to accompany them to the door. - Did you find what you were looking for?

- Yes, Beccs. Thank you so much for keeping it all these years.

- Pretty sure mum would come back to haunt me if I hadn’t. Have fun meeting the parents. - she kissed Bucky’s cheek allowing for the two of them to leave. Bucky immediately wrapped his chunky knitted scarf, something his grandma had knitted for him ages ago, around Y/N’s neck, pulling her to his side.

He couldn’t truly remember a time where he was this happy, so full of need to continue living. She really brought him to this sort of weird normality where his past didn’t seem to affect him or at least not as strongly as it usually did. The two walked into grey skies, it was probably going to rain but none of them cared, walking side by side like those couples on Christmas songs.

- A boxing champion?

- Knock it off, princess. - Bucky helped her into the taxi, telling the driver his address before fastening his seat belt. - It was a long time ago.

- Do you miss her? - she questioned, leaning her head against his shoulder, watching the horizons run through in blurs. - Your mother. Rebecca said you were the favourite.

- Rebecca is always saying that. - he scoffed. - I do miss her. She was a swell lady, always caring about us, not complaining whenever she had to travel around because of my father. She was the best mother someone could’ve asked for. She would’ve liked you.

- You think so?

- I know so. Dad would’ve liked you too so would aunt Ida. Of course there’s still my nephews and nieces and their kids, but they don’t really want to speak with me ... - she didn’t need to ask why, she could see it in his eyes why and it made her sad. It made her sad to think of his family not wanting to be with him, specially during the holidays. - But I’ve had Rebecca and Steve for all these years. They’re my family and now I have you.

- Well, I can’t promise my family will like you but they’ll definitely found the fact I have a boyfriend amusing.

- You mean to tell me I don’t have any ex boyfriends I’ll have to fight once we get to London?

- That’s just unfair, Bucky. You’re a three-time boxing champion.

- You’ll never let that one go will you?

- Nope. Dating a three-time boxing champion is a new identity I can get used to.

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir

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wreckofawriter · 4 years ago

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Strawberries

Restaurant AU!

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Lewd language, swearing, a small mention of sexual harassment. tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: You hate being a waitress for rich assholes, but maybe the new line cook will make it a little better

A/n: this is for week three of my Cliche Month. Sorry for being inactive. I suck at time management and have no motivation.

You never aspired to be a waitress. You didn’t sit down in primary school on a ridiculously colorful rug and tell your underpaid depressed teacher that you wanted to wait on prestigious assholes and rich men who thought a 20 dollar tip bought them an ass grab. You never wanted to wait on entitled white women and spoiled brats. But shit happens.

“Yes ma’am I understand but that was last week’s special, we don’t serve it anymore.”

The woman rolled her eyes, “I don’t think you do understand. I said I want the sea bass, just have them make the sea bass.”

You bit back cusses, “I am very sorry ma’am but we don’t have the ingredients in the kitchen to make a sea bass. I can recommend our halibut it’s severed with a delicious mango chutney and-”

“Shut up about the mango crap. She said she wants a seabass, give her a seabass.” The man who sat on the opposite side of the table spoke.

Your smile almost faltered, “Sir, we don’t have sea bass.”

“Then get some.” The man huffed, “There are plenty of stores around.”

You had already taken the fork beside him and jabbed him in the eye in your mind four times, “I am terribly sorry sir, we cannot do that.”

The look on his face could only be described as disgust, “I would like to speak to your supervisor.”

You took in a deep breath, “Sir, he will not say any different.”

“Now girl.” He snapped, his wife’s smirk making you want to smash her champagne glass over her head.

“I will be right back.” You forced a smile, notebook flipping shut as you turned, the click of your heels disappearing into the chatter of diners. You almost rubbed your tired eyes only to remember the makeup which coated them and dropped your hands back to your side. You walked towards the pass of the kitchen, the smell of fish and meats becoming stronger as waiters weaved around you.

“Denzel.” You called, the man in question turning towards you.

He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Can you pretend to be my supervisor?” You asked, “Some idiots still want to order the sea bass.”

“I’m assuming you told them that was last week's special.” He spoke as you began to lead him back to the couple.

“Multiple times.” you sighed.

He nodded smiles finding both of your faces as you stood in front of the table.

“How can I help you both tonight?” He spoke, his voice dramatically shifting tones.

The woman went on to explain your complete incompetence just to hear your friend restate everything you had. She eventually ordered the halibut.

Denzel left thanking them for their cooperation as you went on to take the man's order and pretending not to hear his wife calling you a bitch as you walked away.

You wanted to be a journalist, a warrior of justice. You wanted to expose the one percent, shattering their ivory towers with a mallet of words.

Instead, you served them halibut and ribeyes with a smile as fake as their trophy wives tits.

James had fallen in love with many things in his life but cooking had been the most prevalent. Most hobbies were tossed out windows, they became phases, leaving nothing but footprints in his life. But cooking had been different. Since he was five years old and would hop onto a stepping stool to peer into the cast-iron pan his mother would be sauteing in he had been hooked. By age 10 he was making things like meatballs and stroganoff. At fourteen he began to engage in more complicated dishes and by the time he hit culinary school he was easily the best in class.

Now as he washed his hundredth dish of the night he wondered if all of that love had been for absolutely nothing. When applying for a line cook position at one of the most prestigious restaurants in London he definitely didn’t expect to be stuck as a dishwasher.

James’ hands felt raw from scrubbing, his apron soaked with warm water and unscented soap. His feet were aching in his shoes, his jealousy for those putting together the night’s last desserts burning hot.

He ignored his anger and pushed on, washing plate after plate just to place them into an industrial-sized dishwasher which was supposed to thoroughly clean the dishes which he already spent hours scrubbing. Dessert plates and wine glasses seemed to replace every dinner plate he had washed, his work seeming endless as his coworkers said goodnight and walked out the back door.

It took James another hour to finish. He felt like he could pass out on the kitchen floor. His glasses were a greasy steamed mess as he pushed them back up his nose for the nth time that evening. He sighed out in a mix of exhaustion and relief untying his apron and preparing to leave.

“So you’re the newbie?”

James jumped letting out a small yelp as his heart leapt in his chest.

You let out a snort hand coming to cover your mouth, a poor attempt of hiding your giggles.

“You scared the shit out of me.” James huffed his glare only holding for a moment as you came into focus. Your hair was up in a reckless bun, your waitress uniform slightly crumpled, heels held in your left hand. Yet your cheeks seemed to be painted, the smirk your visage held tantalizing.

“I saw.” You snickered padding past him and dropping your shoes onto a counter with a small clink. You headed for the refrigerator, opening it and scorning over its contents. You finally settled on a container of cut strawberries, which were to be used as a garnish the next day, “You won’t tell will you?” You muttered peeling open the top and snatching a fork from the dishwasher.

James nodded, what for he wasn’t quite sure.

You jumped onto the counter spinning to face him, “Sooo, what’s your name?”

“Uhh, James, James Potter.” He said leaning back onto the sink.

“It’s very nice to meet you, James.” You grinned, “I’m y/n y/l/n.”

An awkward silence followed as you plopped a berry into your mouth, its flavor bursting as you side-eyed the man.

“You’re a line cook right?” You asked, legs swinging in front of you.

James pouted a bit, his cheeks puffing for a brief moment, “Well I’m supposed to be but so far all I’ve done is wash dishes and take out the trash.”

You hummed in understanding, swallowing fruit before speaking again, “They do that to every newbie. They want to make sure you can do the dirty work before they let you burn on the line.”

James started at you, “Really?”

You shrugged, “That’s how it’s always worked.”

“That’s a relief I thought I was going to be stuck doing this shit.” James relished in his found happiness feeling a bit more energized, “Hey what are you doing back here anyway, didn’t most of the waitresses leave like an hour ago?”

“I just had to see if the new cook was as attractive as all the girls said he was.” You grinned.

James felt his cheeks flame, eyes going wide, “Are you serious?”

“No,” You snickered, “I got hungry and didn’t feel like cooking.”

The heat of his cheeks only worsened, “That’s rude.”

You cooed, “Ooh poor baby I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, are you going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.” James huffed, “I don’t think I can take this harassment.”

The laughter that echoed around him caused a smile to break onto his face.

You suddenly realized he was as attractive as the other waitresses were saying. Even if his hair was a mess and his glasses were smudged.

You hadn’t been lying. By his third week, James was helping with both garnish and desserts. His thirst for cooking finally being fulfilled even by the small tasks he had been given. He was still forced to do dishes at the end of service but usually, someone would help him or even trade-off with him so he could take part in prep.

Most nights when he was left alone in the kitchen you would appear, always claiming to be hungry and that cooking was for “the weak.” so you would raid the fridge instead. You stated many times that veggies and leftover slices of cake were a fine dinner much to James’ distaste.

“That's it.” The newbie announced, hands in the air in mock surrender as you opened a container of cauliflower. “This has to stop.”

Your heart sped in your chest, was he going to turn you in?

“You can’t keep eating shit, I’m going to cook something for you.” James huffed, moving you aside and beginning to pull stuff from the refrigerator.

You lifted your brows, “Are you sure?”

James nodded, “You need to taste actual food.”

You rolled your eyes, “Couldn’t you get in, like, a lot of trouble.”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” He smirked pulling out salmon and bok choy.

“Obviously not.” You huffed taking your usual seat in the counter as James began to work, “What are you making anyway?”

“Asian inspired salmon.” He mumbled, lighting the stove and grabbing a frying pan.

You sat in comfortable silence, watching as he cut the vegetable in half placing it into a pan and the salmon into another. James’ hands moved quickly, not hesitating with the large knives he handled and weaving through the meal as he grabbed seasonings and sauces.

By the time he was pulling the fish from the heat, the kitchen had filled with the scent of soy sauce and warmth.

Grabbing a plate James placed on the salmon followed by the bok choy and the lemon sesame sauce. He wiped the rim with a damp rag and presented it before you with enough dramatics to earn a giggle.

“You’re ridiculous.” You spoke through a smile taking the fork from his offering hand and digging in.

You placed the tender meat into your mouth and was greeted by an explosion of flavors that danced on your tongue like pixie dust. You hummed, a facade of deliberation on your face, “It's overcooked.” You started plainly watching as James’ face dropped. “I’m just kidding it's delicious.” You laughed as James rolled his eyes.

“You are such a dick,” he mumbled, beginning to clean the slight mess he had made.

“What are you doing?” You asked. James gave you a strange look, “Get a fork dumbass, you can’t make rich people food like this and then not eat it.”

The smile that crept onto his face caused wings to erupt in your stomach.

You had always hated teenagers. They were spoiled and greedy and gross. So when an older woman walked in with four 17-year-old boys you had fled the scene. Unfortunately, the waitress head placed you at the table anyway. The second you reached the table all four adolescence had fallen silent and you were positive it wasn’t them being polite. One of them started at your boobs the entire they ordered and you could feel their eyes on your ass as you walked away.

You were used to the gross stares, every waitress was. It didn’t matter how expensive the food was there always seemed to be creeps asking for it. What you had not been prepared for was the boy closest to you to reach out and grab you.

You didn’t hesitate, hand snatching his wrist before he had a chance to fully pull away. The woman the boys were with gasped. You squeezed his arm tight hoping he could feel your nails biting his skin.

“Touch me again and I will cut your hand off. Am I clear?” You hissed, a whimper left the teen’s mouth and you released him. You placed his plate in front of him with a clatter and didn’t waste time walking away.

Your anger didn’t diminish the rest of the night and by the time your shift was over you considered going straight home, a shower and an extra hour of sleep would serve you well.

You glanced into the kitchen, there were three chefs left, James stood in front of the sink smiling at nothing as he always seemed to do. A sigh left your lips, who needs sleep anyway?

“I’ll close up.” You called to the head waitress who shot you a skeptical look.

“You used to hate closing.” She mused, “What’s with the sudden change of heart?”

You shrugged, “Nothing in particular.”

She smirked, “So it has absolutely nothing to do with the new dishwasher?”

Pink bloomed on your cheeks, “He’s a line cook and no it doesn’t.”

“Uh-huh, sure it doesn’t.” She mocked, “If you’re gonna fuck just don’t do it in the kitchen.”

Your face twisted in disgust and you almost dropped the napkins you held, “That is so gross.”

She laughed, dropping the keys on the bar, “If I find any bodily fluids in my office you’re fired.”

“You are disgusting.” You hissed, face hot and she only laughed harder.

You finished cleaning off the remainder of the tables, peeking into the kitchen occasionally as the last two cooks left for the night.

The weight of your exertion hit hard as you entered the kitchen, legs seeming to give out as you bent down to remove your heels.

James noticed your discomfort and let out a chuckle, “Let me.”

You stood up a bit too quickly, head spinning for a second as you were lifted onto the counter, James crouching to slip off your shoes. You sighed leaning back onto your palms.

“Tough day?” he asked, turning back to open the fridge.

You nodded, “Kids are assholes.”

James laughed, “And why's that?”

You yawned eyes watering from its force as you answered, “Well one little highschool shit grabbed my ass.”

James froze, he hand hovering midair as he processed what you had just told him, “What?”

“Oh yeah, entitled rich kids always think they can touch whatever they want. It's why I hate serving teenagers.” You complained not noticing the distress you had put James under.

“This happens regularly?” He was appalled.

“Well not really regularly more like once a month, it’s not always teenagers though,” You explained, “Oo what’s that?”

James set the container of chocolate-covered strawberries in front of you. His mouth still agape “Once a month isn’t regular?”

You huffed, “Can we stop talking about it? It happens to every waitress.”

“Yeah, sorry,” James mumbled watching as you bit into a strawberry, lipstick smearing.

“You going to have one of these?” You asked, holding one between your thumb and pointer finger.

“Sure.” James went to grab the strawberry only for you to pull it away with a grin.

“No, no, I get to feed it to you.” Your smile was sweetly arranged.

Heat tingled on his neck like tv static, “Don’t be ridiculous y/n.”

“Oh come on James, don’t be a pussy.” You taunted waving the fruit in front of him as color painted his cheeks.

He glared at you in mock annoyance as his heartbeat began to run, “Fine.”

You giggled as he took the berry into his mouth, lips barely grazing your fingertips as he pulled away.

James had never been more embarrassed in his life, he chewed the sweet fruit refusing to meet your eyes as you continued to laugh.

“You’re cute ya’ know.” You giggled.

James scoffed, a mix of bittersweet coming from your words, “Whatever.” He walked away from you hiding his flushed face.

You whined, “I’m not joking. You are really cute.”

“Seriously y/n stop,” James spoke, his voice laced with disappointment and melancholy.

You rolled your eyes, “You’re such an idiot James.”

He leaned against the refrigerator as you plopped another berry into your mouth. His arms crossed as a pout you had found yourself obsessed with took his lips.

“A few girls actually did want your number.” You hummed watching as he seemed to perk up, reminding you of a puppy given a toy. “I was supposed to get it for them, but I didn’t really want to.”

James scrunched his brows, “Why not?”

“Cause I wanted your number dumbass.” You scoffed, “I wasn’t about to give it to someone else.” `

This only confused him more, “Why would you want my number?”

A groan lifted from your lips, “Your skull is so thick James. I want your number because you’re cute and funny and all that shit.” your voice fell to a mumble and your eyes became glued to your swinging feet.

“Why didn’t you ask for my number?” James challenged and you felt your already warm face grow hot.

“I was nervous.” You muttered bitterly not liking the vulnerable position you had been put into.

James was suddenly stepping towards you “What was that?” he grinned hand to his ear mockingly.

“You’re enjoying this too much.” You grumbled, “Look I like you, I think you’re cute and sweet and funny now are you going to continue being a dick or give me a proper response?”

James continued to beam, stepping closer to you as you glared up at him with pink cheeks.

“Well, you’re really cute too.” James said, “And I think you were being the dick for making me try to impress you for three weeks only to say you liked me the entire time.”

You were tempted to bury your head in your hands but considering that would mean you breaking his gaze you stopped yourself, “Oh fuck off.” you muttered heart thudding so loud you wondered if James could hear it.

“Is that really what you want?” He questioned already knowing the answer. He leaned over you cupping your cheek.

“Just kiss me already asshole.” You murmured.

James tilted your head up to meet his lips. They were soft and plush, a thousand times better than you imagined them to be nights before. Your thighs parted as his own pressed against the counter between them in desperation to be closer to you. Closed kisses turned to open-mouthed ones, leaving the pleasant taste of strawberries on your tongue.

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kookie-doughs · 4 years ago

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 20: Front Row Seat

Hades was nice. Really nice. I had no idea why they kicked him off Olympus. I think he deserves the world. It was adorable since the three.. four I should correct, of us sat on the floor.

During my short time here, he had reassured me that Me and Mrs. Jackson will not die. He was nice enough to take care of D/N as well. He had even given him Cerberus's old collar. I think he's attached, he couldn't really keep Cerberus here after all.

"Why was Mrs. Rudolph set on me since I was a kid?" I finally asked.

"When you were born... I knew... something was off with you."

"You're the god of the dead not life." I retorted meaner than I thought.

"I couldn't see your life expectancy. I could see you living forever." He stated. "I can sense when one is about to die and when they will. But looking at you I couldn't see anything."

"Woah, I wonder if I'm never going to die. Does it have anything to do with my parent?"

"No." Mrs. Jackson interjected. "That has nothing to do with who your parent is. Since all gods and goddesses has more than one child and none of them are like you. Lord Hades, could we please check on Percy?" She looked at Hades hopeful.

"It's kinda cool how you two are kinda getting along."

"I had sent furies to watch over him... More to jump him but that isn't the point." He cleared his throat. "And the reason why I let her walk is she has information on you."

"Wait she knows? About what? Can you tell me what you know?"

"During the incident in Montauk, your parents and I had a talk. You should get answers from them instead."

"What made you think the big guy would let them go?" I said bitterly.

"I wasn't expecting them to be this low."

"I blame Percy's dad... No offence."

"He deserves to be called a jerk." Mrs. Jackson huffed. "He betrayed you."

Hades got up and D/N followed him, not long after something was projected in front of us.

It was Percy, Annabeth and Grover against Ares.

"Ares gave the bag to us." I told Hades, "He probably has your helm too. Honestly he's my second hated god."

"Second to Poseidon I'll take it." Hades said settling on his throne again. With a flick of his hand two chair appeared. "You wish to watch don't you?"

"Thank you my lord." Mrs. Jackson was relieved.

"Your son better prove his innocence."

Percy turned back to Ares. "Are you going to fight me now?" he asked. "Or are you going to hide behind another pet?"

"Why is he challenging him???" Mrs. Jackson was obviously worried.

"He's a fool."

Ares's face was purple with rage. "Watch it, kid. I could turn you into—" "A cockroach," Percy retorted. "Or a tapeworm. Yeah, I'm sure. That'd save you from getting your godly hide whipped, wouldn't it?"

"I like how we get front row seat on this one." I laughed. Flames danced along the top of Ares glasses. "Oh, man, you are really asking to be smashed into a grease spot." "If I lose, turn me into anything you want. Take the bolt. If I win, the helm and the bolt are mine and you have to go away." Ares sneered. He swung the baseball bat off his shoulder. "How would you like to get smashed: classic or modern?" Percy showed him his sword. "That's cool, dead boy," he said. "Classic it is." The baseball bat changed into a huge, two-handed sword. The hilt was a large silver skull with a ruby in its mouth. "Percy," Annabeth said. "Don't do this. He's a god." "He's a coward," He told her. She swallowed. "...Percy." She took off her necklace, with her five years' worth of camp beads and the ring from her father, and gave it to Percy. "Reconciliation," she said. "Athena and Poseidon together." He gave a smile. "Thanks." "And take this," Grover said. He handed him a flattened tin can that he'd probably been saving in his pocket for a thousand miles. "The satyrs stand behind you." "Grover... I don't know what to say." He patted him on the shoulder. Percy stuffed the tin can in my back pocket.

"Y/N..." Annabeth started. Pulling out from her back was Aphrodite's scarf. Percy looked at it and gripped onto in.

"We'll get her back." he squeaked and took the scarf from her to stuff it in his pocket as well. "You all done saying good-bye?" Ares came toward me, his black leather duster trailing behind him, his sword glinting like fire in the sunrise. "I've been fighting for eternity, kid. My strength is unlimited and I cannot die. What have you got?"

"Hades, can't you like... do something? I really--"

"No. It's his fight. I will not intervene." "But Percy isn't the wrong!!"

"That doesn't matter."

The water pushed Percy into the air and he catapulted over Ares, slashing as he came down. But Ares was just as quick. He twisted, and the strike that should've caught him directly in the spine was deflected off the end of his sword hilt.

He grinned. "Not bad, not bad." He slashed again and Percy was forced to jump onto dry land. He tried to sidestep, to get back to the water, but Ares outmaneuvered him, pressing so hard Percy had to put all his concentration on blocking his attacks.

Mrs. Jackson took my hand.

"He's strong. He'll win this." "Percy!" Annabeth yelled. "Cops!" "Please, at least save him from the cops!!" I said.

"The mist is powerful child. But if you wish, I could clear his name. Both of yours."

"Yes please..." I saw red lights flashing on the shoreline boulevard. Car doors were slamming. "There, officer!" somebody yelled. "See?" A gruff cop voice: "Looks like that one kid on TV... what the heck..." "That guy's armed," another cop said. "Call for backup." Percy rolled to one side as Ares's blade slashed the sand. Percy ran for his sword, scooped it up, and launched a swipe at Ares's face, only to find his blade deflected again. Ares seemed to know exactly what he was going to do the moment before he did it. Percy stepped back toward the surf, forcing him to follow. "Admit it, kid," Ares said. "You got no hope. I'm just toying with you." I saw a second cop car pulling up, siren wailing. Spectators, people who had been wandering the streets because of the earthquake, were starting to gather. Among the crowd, I thought I saw a few who were walking with the strange, trotting gait of disguised satyrs. There were shimmering forms of spirits, too, as if the dead had risen from Hades to watch the battle.

"You sent more that the furies." I frowned at Hades.

"The three had survived all three furies. I obviously needed more than one."

"Rude." More sirens. Percy stepped farther into the water, but Ares was fast. The tip of his blade ripped his sleeve and grazed Percy's forearm. A police voice on a megaphone said, "Drop the guns.' Set them on the ground. Now!" Ares turned to glare at our spectators. There were five police cars now, and a line of officers crouching behind them, pistols trained on them. "This is a private matter!" Ares bellowed. "Be gone.'" He swept his hand, and a wall of red flame rolled across the patrol cars. The police barely had time to dive for cover before their vehicles exploded. The crowd behind them scattered, screaming. Ares roared with laughter. "Now, little hero. Let's add you to the barbecue."

"Stop the fire. Don't let the civilians get hurt!" I told him.

"Don't worry. No one was hurt." Hades said waving me off. Ares slashed. Percy deflected his blade. He got close enough to strike, but his blow was knocked aside. The waves were hitting Percy in the back now. Ares was up to his thighs, wading in after Percy. Ares came toward, grinning confidently. Percy lowered his blade, as if he were too exhausted to go on. Ares raised his sword.

A whimper came from Mrs. Jackson as she buried her face on her palm.

Percy jumped, rocketing straight over Ares was a wave which he rode.

A six-foot wall of water smashed him full in the face, leaving him cursing and sputtering with a mouth full of seaweed. Percy landed behind him with a splash and feinted toward his head, as he'd done before. Ares turned in time to raise his sword, but this time he was disoriented, he didn't anticipate the trick. Percy changed direction, lunged to the side, and stabbed Riptide straight down into the water, sending the point through the god's heel. The roar that followed made Hades's earthquake look like a minor event. The very sea was blasted back from Ares, leaving a wet circle of sand fifty feet wide. Ichor, the golden blood of the gods, flowed from a gash in the war god's boot. The expression on his face was beyond hatred. It was pain, shock, complete disbelief that he'd been wounded. He limped toward Percy, muttering ancient Greek curses. Something stopped him. It was as if a cloud covered the sun, but worse. Light faded. Sound and color drained away. A cold, heavy presence passed over the beach, slowing time, dropping the temperature to freezing, and making me feel like life was hopeless, fighting was useless. I had no idea how I felt all that despite my location. The darkness lifted. Ares looked stunned. Police cars were burning behind them. The crowd of spectators had fled. Annabeth and Grover stood on the beach, in shock, watching the water flood back around Ares's feet, his glowing golden ichor dissipating in the tide. Ares lowered his sword. "You have made an enemy, godling," he told me. "You have sealed your fate. Every time you raise your blade in battle, every time you hope for success, you will feel my curse. Beware, Perseus Jackson. Beware." His body began to glow. '''Percy!" Annabeth shouted. "Don't watch!"

Hades stood up and turned to me.

"He's innocence is proven. You two are free." I looked back. Ares was gone. The tide rolled out to reveal Hades's bronze helm of darkness. Percy picked it up and walked toward the others.

"As promised, you two shall be returned."

"I want to go to Percy." I said.

"You can meet him at the tower. Sally Jackson and I will have a talk then we can send you back."

"A-Are you keeping D/N?" I asked.

He looked at me then D/N. "We'll find that out when we had sent you home."

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il0veyoujk · 4 years ago

Text

Apologizes

Summary: Nefeli (20) pulls a mini prank on Yoongi whilst he is playing basketball

Warning: none

Notes: This is a mini fic I wrote before I start publishing my series. It’s still under edit so it will take some time till it gets published

This is a tickle related ff, if you are not interested in it, please keep scrolling

Lots of love Nef 💕

Nefeli was sitting on a sunbed in the backyard of her apartment, drinking a cola. The weather was a little cloudy and chilly as the 20-year-old girl, was watching her roommate and best friend playing basketball in front of her. It was currently Saturday, during Spring Day and as they couldn’t do something else due to lockdown, they decided to stay home.

“Ah, are you planning on staying here all day long?” the young adult complained to her roommate, who wasn’t paying attention to her at all. Everyone knew that her best friend is hot and all but she was truly bored.

“Yeah yeah, gimme 10” the young lad kept bouncing the ball, staring at the basket in front of him, not paying attention to Nef.

Nef groaned loudly and threw her head back in frustration, rubbing her eyes “You literally said the same thing an hour ago Yoongz, I’m bored out here doing nothing!”

“Yeah yeah, gimme 10” Yoongi repeated, focused on his target.

The girl glared at her roommate, trying her best not to chock him. She had to do something not to die of boredom. Plus she was in a playful mood again and she wanted to mess with someone. So her victim would be poor Yoongi.

She looked around her, tryna find the perfect thing to annoy him with, when her eye fell on a glass of freezing water, making her smirk widely.

She grabbed it and on the tip of her toes walked up to Yoongi, who was standing in from of the basket with bend knees. His eyes were fixed to the basket and he was bouncing the ball, while his mouth was a little open while his back was turned to Nefeli.

Nef smirked widely and before Yoongi could shoot the ball, she poured the freezing water on her best friend.

Yoongi gasped and before he could turn around, the 20-year-old had already ran for her own life inside, running away from her best friend who was chasing her with the most mischievous smirk someone had ever seen.

“Come back here right now Nef! Y’know you cannot hide!” Yoongi growled playfully as he bolted towards the giggling girl who had a red face from all the running and giggling.

Nefeli squealed when she turned around and saw her best friend almost catching her and she sped up, not really knowing what to do.

It was known that Yoongi could be really merciless when you are messing with him. Once Nef had painted his favorite shirt hot pink, Yoongi has slept on her the whole night and before she could wake up, he had poured a whole bucket of iced water on her. Who knows what he would do now?

“Gah no!” she squeaked and turned a corner, running faster to find a hiding spot, leaving Yoongi some meters behind her chasing her and laughing along with her.

What she hadn’t understood tho was that she had entered his room... and she had to hide in there... ‘Ahhh good job Nef, good job!’ she mentally sighed and rushed under the bed.

I know I know, not the best place for someone to hide... But you cannot blame her, she wasn’t controlling her actions and she was doing whatever was crashing her mind at that point.

She thought she was safe, until she saw her roommate’s white, purple, and green basketball shoes entering the room, making her gulp quietly.

“Y’know hiding won’t get ya anywhere Nef!” Yoongi sing-sang with a teasing tone, wandering around the room “This is my room, and I’m not gonna let you go like that...” he opened fastly the door of his wardrobe, looking for her.

Butterflies erupted in her stomach from anticipation whilst she was trying her best to swallow the nervous giggles with were bubbling up in her throat. She always cannot help but feel flustered every time someone throws at her even the tiniest tease. And oh, Yoongi knew that too well... They were neighbors and friends since forever, even if Yoongi is older for 7 years, it would be ridiculous if he didn’t know how to get her to do what he wants to.

“Y’know you cannot hide...” he looked behind the door, still looking for her.

What Nefeli didn’t know tho, was that her tiny fingers were wrapped around the foot of the bed. And the young lad had seen that...

“If you come out right now, I may go easier on you...” he threatened, opening the bathroom door.

She squealed.

And it was loud.

Loud enough for Yoongi to-

“Was that a squealed I heard?”

She knew she was screwed. She had no chance against him and she knew that too well, even if he was a shorty. Well, she was shorter than him but still shorty.

“Well then, if that made you squeal, I wonder what sound you’d make if I do this!” Yoongi pulled Nefeli by her foot, getting her to scream a little, and in a shift move, he threw her on the bed, straddling her “Well hey there”

“Nonononono! I’m so sohohohorry Yoongz, I’m sorry! Please don’t smahahahash me again!” Nef shook her head furiously side to side, giggling her poor heart out.

Yoongi on the other hand tho was only staring at her, with a smug grin on his face, not moving at all.

“What-What are you looking at?” Nefeli stopped moving and stared back at her best friend confused.

“I haven’t even touched you yet and you are already laughing” he raised her blouse high enough to expose her hypersensitive sides and ribs, placing his hands on her sides.

And then it hit her.

He was gonna do it...

Again!

He was gonna tickle her!

As soon as his wet hands touched her warm skin, Nefeli flinched so hard she almost fell off of the bed, making Yoongi chuckle loudly “Please not that! Anything but that! Please please please nohohoho!”

“I’m not doing anything!” he exclaimed, not moving his hands at all on her sides. They were only resting there, driving the poor girl crazy. She didn’t know when he was gonna strike and the only thing she could do was dying of anticipation.

“Yoongi I’m so sorry! Please no!” Nefeli kept giggling, as she grabbed his wrists, trying to get them off of her, but Yoongi wasn’t moving an inch. He was just staring at her, with a tiny smirk on his face.

Nef’s cheeks were burning and her stomach was formed in a tight knot of shyness and embarrassment mixed with butterflies. To be honest, she loved those moments with Yoongi, they were so fun and they were destroying his badboy and cold image he wanted to show everyone. And a part of her loves being tickled anyway. But shh! You didn’t hear that from me.

“Well I think you should have thought about it before you splash me...” and with that his fingers started squeezing her sides, speeding up with each squeeze.

The poor girl let out an inhumanly loud scream and fell in loud fits of laughter, thrashing around furiously as one of her worst spots was being attacked mercilessly. And lemme tell you Yoongi knew that too well.

“GAH AHAHAHAHAHAHA YOONGZ NAHAHAHAHAHA!” Nefeli was laughing uncontrollably, shaking her head from side to side like a madman. She couldn’t stand that, it was like billions of pencils were poking her at the same time.

“Oh, laughing already?” the boy’s smirk grew bigger as he kept kneading faster and faster, knowing that would drive her crazy.

“PLEAHAHAHAHAHASE NAHAHAHAHA!” Nefeli was squirming around so much that Yoongi was looking like he was riding a wild horse, ready to fall off of her.

“C’mon it’s only revenge, I thought you were tougher than that” Yoongi simply shrugged like he wasn’t currently attacking a screaming girl.

If you didn’t know those two knew each other for years, you’d think he had randomly made her go mad since the beginning, right? Well, wrong! Yoongi knew exactly what he was doing and knew from the start that this would get her for good. She just wanted to make her apologize. But this was gonna take him longer than he thought.

Yoongi moved his hands behind her back, scribbling on her lower back. This only made Nefeli arch her back, wiggling her torso side to side, trying to get rid of the devilish feelings, but nothing was working at all.

“AHAHAHAHAHA MEAHAHAHAHAN AHAHAHAHA!” Nefeli was trying with all her might to push him away, even if she never meant that she wanted him to stop. Just a reflex.

What she hadn’t realized tho was that the more she was tryna push him away, the more she was reaching the edge of the bed.

“Nah I’m not mean yet...” he sang, bringing one of his hands on her hips, drilling his thumb there, while the other hand kept scribbling her lower back.

Nefeli’s laughter rose at least 3 octaves and she started kicking her legs furiously. She tried many times to bring her knees to her chest, but Yoongi’s tiny body wasn’t letting her do that. Oh well, it wouldn’t help anyway.

Yoongi’s thumb on her hip was moving in a fast, circling motion, touching all her nerves, and getting as reactions loud laughs and screams. The boy was only grinning like Cheshire Cat at his friend, clearly enjoying that. And to be honest, so was Nef.

“AHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAHA LEMME GAHAHAHAHAHA!” Nefeli was thrashing around like no end, trying to get rid of her roommate and the feeling. She was kicking her feet and legs furiously, not doing much at all tho.

“Ah, you want me to get your feet, little one? Sure!” Yoongi happily exclaimed and turned around, and sat on her ankles. He pulled the poor girl’s tiny toes behind and scribbled all over her hypersensitive feet, making her howl in loud hysterical laughter.

“GAHAHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAHA PLEAHAHAHAHASE!” Nefeli was punching the mattress hard, thrashing around and shaking her feet and legs manically, trying to stop the sensations as much as she could, but she wasn’t doing much anyway. Yoongi was way stronger to even move from his place.

His fingers were dancing torturously fast up and down her soles, focusing on the very middle of her foot, knowing from experience this would drive her mad.

Nef was pushing his back, punching and kicking hard, screaming and shrieking like her life was depending on it, but nothing was helping the matter. The feeling of fingers on her hypersensitive feet was remaining the same and never change. It remained the same torturous feeling she ever knew.

“Coochie coochie coo Neffie!” that’s it, Yoongi had killed Nef with three simple words. One thing she cannot take is those three words, everyone knows that! And of course, Yoongi just HAD to do that.

Nefeli’s face turned a new shade of red and immediately her laughter went up an octave “NAHAHAHAHAT THE WAHAHAHARDS AHAHAHA!”

“Aw, what happened? Can’t take three innocent words?” ah teases were an extremely weak spot of her, and her best friend knew that and was fully taking advantage of it.

However, when the fingers touched her toes and their base, the scream she let out could wake up even dead people.

“Jackpot” Yoongi smirked widely and focused on that spot, squeezing the toes of one of her feet and scribbling on the base of them on the other, while cooing and teasing her nonstop “Look how cute and tiny your feet are”

Nefeli’s face was all red and sweat was all over her face along with the widest smile someone has ever seen. Hysterical laughter was coming out of her mouth. Mixed with hiccups and loud squeals every now and then.

She was pushing herself more and more to the edge of the bed, by pushing his back to set her feet and legs free. However, when she finally did, she hadn’t realized how close to the edge of the bed was, till she fell off of it. Well not completely. Yoongi sat on her thighs before she could fall, so only her midsection and head were off of the bed.

Uh huh... All her spots weak spots were fully exposed...

Yoongi’s smirk grew bigger as he looked down at his roommate hanging there upside down, fully exposed and nervousness in her eyes. Nefeli on the other hand was trying to keep her blouse in place, but it was useless since she couldn’t even keep her arms to her torso. Thankfully, she was wearing a sports bra under the shirt and nothing was revealed. And now you’ll ask me, why don’t her arms touch the ground? Well, lemme tell you that Yoongi may be short, but Nef is way shorter. And the bed is too tall for her, especially in the position she is in.

“Well well well... What do we have here?” Yoongi placed his hands on Nef’s sides once again. Only this time making her flinch harshly. “A too sensitive Nefeli... She better apologize soon”

“N-NEVER!” as stubborn and confident as that reaction was, so nervous and panicked Nef was inside. She knew she wasn’t helping herself at all...

“Well, this is gonna tickle” Yoongi threw her a wide grin and started squeezing her sides up and down with no mercy at all, watching Nef as she started cackling.

Well, lemme tell you when you are being tickled in that position, everything is 69474055892600 times worse.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAHAT THAHAHAT HAHAHA!” the young girl threw her head back in laughter, trying to keep her arms pressed on her torso, but she just couldn’t, it was impossible!

“Tickletickletickletickle Neffie~ I’m sure you love it!” Yoongi kept going and going, squeezing faster and faster and faster, while the poor girl could only hang there and laugh uncontrollably.

Nefeli felt electric shots hitting her body while her face was heating up more. Her arms were hanging above her head, only able to cover her already blushed face, and howl in loud laughter.

“PLEAHAHAHAHASE LEMME GAHAHAHAHA!” she was thrashing around in the air, careful not to fall down, but it was really hard to stay still. Thankfully, Yoongi was sitting well on her and she couldn’t fall down or escape at all.

“What is it Nef? Why are you laughing? Ah, sometimes, you are so weird!” Yoongi teased with his sing-song voice, making everything way worse for Nef.

And if you thought things couldn’t get any worse, I’ll tell you that Yoongi moved to her ribs... He kept scribbling, pinching, kneading, and squeezing her poor ribs, bringing to the surface hysterical laughter.

“Ahh, I think I don’t feel all your ribs... Lemme check” if Nefeli’s eyes go wide they would. Rib counting was probably one of the most sensitive things she could ever experience, along with toe playing “Oneeee...” he clawed her bare lowest set of ribs, sending her in a new round of cackling.

“AHAHAHAHAHA MERCY NAHAHAHAHAHA!” she managed to grab his wrists weakly.

“Twooooo...” Yoongi poked all over her second set of rib, making her loosen her grip a lot around his wrists.

“PLEAHAHAHAHAHASE NAHAHAHAHAT THEAHAHAHAHARE!” Nef started kicking hard again, shaking her head worse than before. She even tried to arch her back, but every time, she would fall back again from how much she was laughing.

“Threeee...” he squeezed fastly her third set of ribs, making her buck her hips in the air again.

“COUNT FAHAHAHAHASTER AHAHAHAHA!” Nefeli was screaming louder than she had ever screamed at this point from how much it tickled. Her ribs had always been one of her worst spots, and being attacked there was really heaven and hell for her.

“You want me to count faster? Alright then. Onetwothreefourfive...” Yoongi evilly started poking fastly all around Nef’s ribs, focusing more on the spaced between the bones and her middle ribs, making hers cream again and thrash around like a fish out of the water, laughing uncontrollably.

“Ah, I’m wondering what this noise is, it sounds like laughter...” his eyes never met the spot he was attacking, looking everywhere but her, pretending to try and listen to something more carefully.

If one thing was working on Nef, that was teases. They were driving her crazy and were making her look like she was an alive tomato.

However, the time stopped for her the moment Yoongi stopped and bent down, almost touching her stomach, whispering “I’m gonna do it...”

Nefeli widened, her eyes, knowing full well what he meant. Something Yoongi clearly knew she couldn’t stand.

“No... Nononono Yoongz please no! Have mercy!” the young girl was panicking, giggling like a maniac before he could even touch her. She knew what was coming. And it was never good...

“Aw, what do we have here? Such a sweet tummy...” Yoongi was alternating his eyes between Nefeli and her belly, making him look like he was ready to attack anytime soon. Well... He was anyway.

She covered her face with her hands, already feeling tingles “Nohohoho! Please don-”

“Lemme eat it!” and with that, he made a diving motion and started nibbling all over her sides... NIBBLING! HER! SIDES! He couldn’t have chosen something else, no... He simply HAD to nibble her! He just had to do that...

Nef was thrown into hysterics as soon as his teeth touched her skin. Nibbles had always been her hugest weakness ever since she was a baby and everyone knew that.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAH YOONGAHAHAHAHA!” at this point he actions could not be described. She was kicking the mattress, punching and throwing her arms in the air, and wiggling her torso around, like a wild animal.

It tickled so much she was thinking she would explode anytime soon. Thankfully, she didn’t of course!

“Agh! Stop shouting and lemme eat you!” Yoongi chuckled as her shrieks became louder, every time he was talking on her skin, messing and playing with her every so often.

One of his hands started kneading her hip while the other one was furiously digging in her armpit as he kept nibbling all around her midsection with no mercy.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHATE YAHAHAHA AHAHAHA!” obviously Nefeli never meant it every time she was throwing that at her friends, especially Yoongi. But it was the only thing she could say at that moment.

“You are hurting my feelings Neffie... I think I wanna cry!” and with that, Yoongi blew numerous abnormally sensitive raspberries all over her torso, sending her in a new round of manic laughter. “And you even splashed me some minutes ago, what did I ever do to you?!” his teases weren’t helping the matter, of course, only adding to the feeling, mentally.

“PLEAHAHAHAHASE MERCAHAHAHAHA!” Nefeli didn’t know what to do to even stop him. She had started moving, only screaming and laughing. Mostly screaming, to be honest...

Tears were rolling down her rosy cheeks, as her laughter suddenly turned silent. Her stomach was aching from how much she was laughing and her cheeks and throat were burning

“I’M SAHAHAHAHAHARRY!” Nefeli managed to scream, and immediately Yoongi helped her sit up.

He pulled her into a tight hug, stroking her messy hair away from her face, giving her a glass of water “Are you alright?”

Nefeli only managed to nod, panting hard as she was gulping down the water.

“Heheh, it was fun” Yoongi smirked as Nefeli glared at him playfully, too tired to even react “You have to admit it was fun!”

“Okay okay! It was!” she rolled her eyes, drinking the rest of the water.

A loud thud made both of them flinch hard and then giggle loudly at each other “It’s raining” Nefeli looked outside, watching as people were running with newspapers and umbrellas to get into their house or cars to go home.

“Avengers marathon it is?”

“Yes!”

Lemme tell you they both fell asleep on each corner of the couch under the duvet, while Steve was dancing with Paige on the screen in front of them...

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tenthgrove · 4 years ago

Text

L’inizio- A La Squadra Backstory Collection

Chapter 1: La Serenità (Risotto Nero)

Word count: ~6000

Warnings: Like most La Squadra backstories, this fic is going to get quite dark in places so I’m going to include content warnings chapter by chapter. For this chapter, warnings are in place for grief, self-harm (implicit), violence, murder and general mental ill-health

Needles of rain batter the old road as the taxi pulls into a quiet town. The driver, who eyes his unfamiliar passenger quickly and often as he slumps broodingly in the back seat, prays his headlights don’t give up on him now.

“I know my way from here,” the passenger speaks. Though doubtful of his judgement, the driver takes his cue to pull to a stop on the unlevel curb. The passenger undoes his seatbelt and slings his heavy bag over-shoulder. He spares the taxi driver a rare moment of eye contact. “If you try and find the church yourself in this weather we’ll be here all night,” he huffs.

“Are you sure?” the driver asks waveringly, “the downpour is quite severe after all.”

“I’ve had worse. Now here, your money,” the strange man maintains, shoving a fist of cash towards him. The driver counts it eagerly.

“130,000 lire? That’s far more-”

“The first half is for the journey, the rest says you never saw me,” he elaborates impatiently. Reaching for the door, he steps out detachedly into the rain and begins his long strides forward. After a moment he stops, and looks back. For the first time all journey, his bitter face is lit up by the glare of the headlights. For all he has said and done, the driver cannot bring himself to feel shock at the sight of the black and red eyes the stranger looks at him with.

“And really,” the young man repeats. “Ensure you speak nothing of me. If you do, I have contacts who will ensure you regret it,” he snarls, turning his back ardently on the car and pacing away down the street. The driver wastes no time in leaving him be.

Risotto Nero wipes rain from his brow as he climbs the hill towards his destination. Somewhere, deep within his mind he acknowledges the unjust callousness with which he regards his childhood town around him. Perhaps, it is easier on his soul not to do otherwise.

Even as the darkness affords him no aid, Risotto guides himself by muscle memory towards the old tower of the village church. He knows by memory too, the way through the ancient graveyard to the place he came to visit. Reaching the far corner, he stumbles on the dirt and feels his hands for the stone. Icy hands trace its name, pangs of both relief and guilt when the familiar lettering is felt by him.

“Domenico,” Risotto half-gasps. He lets his knees give way as he sinks down onto the dirt of the grave. “I came back, as I promised you. I have to go again soon but…” he reaches into the pockets of his coat and pulls out a metal box the size of his palm. It’s starting to reek, a miracle the driver of the taxi didn’t notice, but it’s here now. “I did it Domenico. I killed him. For you,” Risotto speaks. He wrenches off the lid and the foul stench of rotting blood ebbs out. He hold it shakily over the grave, and tips it onto the dirt.

“I wanted to make him suffer more. Show him just what he did to Nonna and I by taking you. I couldn’t do that, there wasn’t enough time. But… I hope this is enough for you, Amico. I hope you can be at peace now.”

Risotto kisses his palm and presses it to the gravestone.

“Goodbye, Domenico.”

Risotto stand to his feet and turns away from the grave. A clap of lightning brings a brief moment of light to the rugged graveyard. There at the other end, Risotto sees a figure familiar to him, looking out over the sea of graves.

Damn it, Risotto thinks to himself. How in God’s name did she find him here?

Risotto crosses his palms and stands sheepishly as the figure of his grandmother approaches him. Vittoria stops when she’s close enough for the faint light of the night to force them to see eye to eye. Risotto knows he could not look away from her if he tried.

“I saw a vehicle coming into town,” Vittoria speaks. “Somehow, I knew in my heart it would be you.” The aging woman reaches a hand for her grandson’s arm. He flinches, but does not shake her off. “What have you done, Risotto?”

Risotto breathes deeply. He gives her the firmest look he dares.

“Exactly what I said I would.”

“It’s all over the news,” Vittoria laments. “The theories are ceaseless. I can only thank god you haven’t been named as a suspect yet, but with all that’s happened it’s only a matter of time.”

“They aren’t going to name me,” he promises. “I sought protection as I said I would. No police force in Italy will dare put blame on me, and they will not harass you either.” Risotto assures her. Vittoria’s eyes go wide as panic flashes across her face. She opens her mouth fearfully.

“Who?”

“Passione,” Risotto answers.

“Then you really have doomed yourself Risotto.”

Risotto takes a step back.

“I’ve sworn to report to Naples by 4pm tomorrow. I have to go, Nonna,” he excuses himself.

“Stay, just a few hours, I beg of you,” Vittoria pleads. As he marches to the edge of the graveyard, she follows him desperately. “If you must go, I can take you myself in the morning. Don’t you want to bring more of your things? At very least- give a passing goodbye to your home?” she vies. Risotto shakes his head without looking back at her. “Risotto, please,” Vittoria begs, grabbing him by the wrist. “You’re all I’ve got left. You don’t have to go to them. I can hide you. I can take care of you.”

“I’m not going to be so dishonourable as to break an oath. Even if you could find a place for me out of Passione’s reach, my conscience would not allow it,” Risotto insists. “Surely you can understand that.”

Vittoria nods shakily.

“Unfortunately, I can. Very well, Risotto, I see your mind is made up. But won’t you at least come home for tonight?”

“No. It’s easier if I just go,” Risotto denies her. “Thank you for everything, Nonna.”

::::::::::::

A car horn sounds outside and Risotto snaps his eyes open. Sweat clings the sheets to his skin in spite of the cold weather. His head hurts and the light of his desk lamp stings his eyes as he switches it on. He doesn’t want to leave the bed. He wants to curl up and throw the sheets over his face but he knows he can’t do that.

It’s 11pm. No doubt his superiors will have tasks for him overnight and glancing over at the other bed, his roommate is already up. Risotto forces himself from bed. He notices the wrinkled photograph of his Nonna and cousin out on the nightstand- he must have left it there before he fell asleep. He tucks it quickly into the drawer. The idea of his roommates seeing it always leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Dressing in the first thing he can find, Risotto stumbles into the squalid little bathroom. Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s only 20, a gaunt, ghoulish figure whose eyes never focus and mouth never smiles. He used to think himself lonely as a child. Now he longs for a life that loved.

Risotto turns the tap and splashes his face with a little water. It hardly helps him look much better but it helps a little with the headache. He dries his face with a wipe and casts it into the bin. Often, he wonders whether his roommates haven’t noticed all the bloody tissues that keep piling up in there or if they’re just keeping quiet, but either way he’s glad for their silence. Wiping his hands on the towel, Risotto leaves for the kitchen.

“You look like shit,” Marco remarks. By the time Risotto looks at him back he’s already lost interest, eyes focused on the book he rests against the edge of the kitchen table.

“Thanks,” Risotto responds. He turns the dial on the light a little brighter. “Where are the others?”

“Fucked if I know. Nowhere good, I reckon,” Marco answers him. He pushes his glasses back into place, before scooting back in his chair to look up at Risotto. “But it works well for us. We’ve got an errand ‘needs doing. Whole massive sack of cash needs running to the warehouse. You know I can’t trust the others with that sort of thing, so I’m giving it to you. Fair?”

“Fair. I could use the walk,” Risotto shrugs. He reaches for his coat.

“Woah woah woah,” Marco stops him. “Please tell me you’re at least going to eat something before you head out. You look like you legitimately might fall over.”

“I’ll be fine, Marco, I just- don’t feel up to it,” Risotto excuses himself, slinging his arms into the coat sleeves.

“I am not letting you do such an important job for me in a state like that. Sit. I’ll get you something. As captain of this house, I’m ordering you,” Marco insists.

“If you’re so powerful how about you get Niccolo to stop barging in drunk every morning at 4am?” Risotto grumbles. He sits down anyway.

“I’m house captain, not a damn miracle worker,” Marco half-chuckles. Risotto gives a tut and forces his tense body to relax.

He heads out right after he’s eaten, not particularly wanting to converse with his roommate much longer. Risotto likes walking, especially at night. The cool air helps with the constant feeling of sickness and the quiet clears his head. He knows the place he’s going- an old warehouse a few blocks away where a lot of the money and drugs Passione seizes are taken as a first port of call. It’s not far, but Risotto thinks he’ll take the long route back. He’s enjoying this.

Risotto spies the run-down silhouette of the warehouse towering over the end of the street. The front entrance is right ahead, but Risotto knows he’s not supposed to use it for this sort of work. He heads left, down into the brick alleyway that takes him to the back door. A man is leaning against the wall. His face, scarred and stubbled, is made visible by the lighter he uses to light his bent cigarette. He spares a glance to Risotto, and Risotto feels the sudden urge to give him a wide birth.

“You got a watch on you?” the stranger asks.

Risotto isn’t falling for that one. He looks dead ahead and keeps walking, clutching the bag between himself and the wall. Pain assails the back of his shin and he falls, string-tied money falling out on the floor.

“We’ve been expecting you,” says the stranger. Face against the mud, Risotto hears the click of a gun and his instincts take over. He flings to the right, just as the deafening sound of a gunshot fires right by his ear. He rolls onto his back and grabs the stranger by his wrist, twisting the gun away before it can fire again. There’s a noise in the alleyway and Risotto wonders if it’s help. Two silhouettes come around the corner and point their guns, but it isn’t at the stranger. It’s at him.

Risotto twists his attacker’s wrist further until he hears something pop. The man yelps in pain and lets go of the gun. Grabbing it, Risotto aims at the two newcomers and fires rapidly. The angle is hardly idle but Risotto is fervent. There’s a scream and one of them falls, distracting their companion long enough for Risotto to take care of his other problem. Gripping his arms with both hands and summoning all his strength, Risotto flips the first attacker over his head, the injured man landing with a thud behind him.

Risotto scrambles to his feet. The man tries to do the same but he isn’t fast enough. Risotto straddles him and draws his knife. He stabs him again and again, blood spurting from his neck and chest as his struggling slowly stops. He stills. Risotto pulls the knife from the dead flesh and sighs.

A blinding brightness shoots down from above and Risotto reels in pain. Falling to the ground beside the body, he tries to blink his eyes open only to be met with more agony. It’s like a million needles of light are stabbing him from the sky.

The stars. Something is up with the stars.

“Bet they didn’t even give you a stand, did they? Worthless nobody.”

Steps approach Risotto from behind and the third attacker stops beside him. “Obviously not, otherwise you would have noticed it earlier,” the man scowls. Risotto tries to look up and catches a brief, blurry image of his face with no detail. It’s isn’t good to confirm much other than the man is there.

“What have you done to me?” Risotto demands. He tries to press his hands to his eyes but it still hurts. The light gets brighter still.

“I’ve used my stand on you. It’s only your perception of the stars that has been changed and not the whole planet, so don’t feel too mind blown. Believe me, if I could do that, I wouldn’t be stealing from Passione to subsidise what they pay me.”

Risotto’s eyes blink open again and in their brief moment of vision Risotto sees something that stills his blood. The stranger holds Risotto’s own knife, raised high above his head. Risotto lashes out.

Relying on instinct alone he lurches up to tackle his assailant to the ground. The stranger chuckles and throws him off of him. Risotto may be strong, but he isn’t used to fighting without his sight. It puts him at a severe disadvantage.

Risotto feels a harsh punch to his spine. He stumbles back to the ground, stopped from landing face first only by his scratched hands. He knows he would have heard it if another individual had approached it. That can only mean one thing- his attacker’s stand.

Risotto despairs. He knows stands are immune from all damage by things of this world, so without a stand of his own Risotto is defenceless against it. He has only one hope: kill the user first. Risotto lunges forwards, grabbing onto his attacker and pushing him to the ground through sheer force. He sinks his hands around the man’s neck and pushes down with all his force. The man brings up the knife and stabs it into Risotto’s chest. The pain is blinding, but Risotto knows it’s nowhere fatal. He is not deterred. The knife is brought up again and strikes him again between the ribs, but it is not deep enough to make Risotto give up his grip.

The stranger’s arm falls and the knife clatters out of reach, but Risotto is not safe yet. The unseeable stand unleashes a barrage of blows to his body, but Risotto forces himself not to give up. He stays there for what feels like an eternity, eyes clamped shut and body in agony, until the light starts to get weaker. The stand’s punches lose their strength.

Risotto can see clearly again, though the pain isn’t entirely gone. He looks down unfeelingly at the dying man below him, retching, wheezing for air as he grips Risotto’s wrist pleadingly. Risotto feels nothing as the man’s eyes glaze over and his body goes still. He holds his grip for another minute, making absolute certain the assailant is dead and not unconscious. Then he collapses.

Risotto stares up at the sky. Blood clings to his chest and oozes around his clothes. He notices how acutely aware he is of his heart, beating erratically as it pumps the blood out his skin. His limbs are heavy, the feeling in his hands already gone. He can feel himself fading second-by-second. He comes to realise just how long he’s wanted this.

Risotto thinks of Domenico and his Nonna, and patiently waits for the beating in his heart to stop.

::::::::::::

The next thing that Risotto is aware of is the heart monitor, beeping rhythmically as the white of the hospital surrounds him. He moves about in the sheets, noting the feeling of his chest constrained by bandages. A nurse rushes over to him and his awareness dissociates. It doesn’t come back until she’s leaving.

“There was a man here to see you earlier,” she mentions.

“Not some twerp with glasses, was it?” Risotto asks. He hates how weak and strained his voice sounds.

“No, some classy guy. His name was… Prosciutto Crepuscolo? I’ll have to check the book, but it’s something like that anyway. He seemed pretty ardent about seeing you so I’ll expect he’ll be back soon.”

“Alright,” Risotto sighs. “Thanks for the warning.”

Great. This is probably some stuck-up management asshole here to interrogate him about what happened. Risotto can only hope they know what the attackers were up to and don’t think he just decided to murder three soldatos on the fly. Otherwise, Risotto’s troubles may be just be beginning.

Risotto waits. The clock strikes 6am, but there’s no way to know how many times it’s done that since they took him here. He’s half-tempted to get up and find out but then he remembers the tube in his arm. He can’t really be bothered, anyway. At very least, they gave him a private room. It’s clear they know who he is, so it must have either been his roommates or the operatives of the warehouse who took him here. Someone who knows where the doctors on Passione’s payroll work.

The clock strikes 9. That nurse came back to check on him at some point but Risotto barely even noticed. He wants to go back to sleep but the pain is too bad for that. He can’t do anything but think, and even that is hard for him in so much pain.

The door clicks and an unfamiliar man enters. He appears disdained by the rain on his fine jacket as he takes it off quickly, brushing strands of blond hair from his eyes. He is a young man, though seemingly a fair bit older than Risotto if the way he carries himself is anything to go by.

“Nero?” the man asks. He regards Risotto critically as he steps forward.

“Yes, you’re Crepuscolo, correct?” Risotto replies.

“Call me Prosciutto. I can’t stand when people use that surname,” the man answers. He places his blazer on the back of the visitor’s chair and sits down, folding his hands.

“You’re from Passione, aren’t you?”

“That obvious? I suppose it must be,” Prosciutto shrugs. “I’m less special than you probably think. I handle logistics, usually more to do with murder than drugs and gambling, but I report to Polpo just like you do,” he explains.

“Are you currently sorting the logistics of having me shot, Prosciutto?” Risotto asks dryly. Prosciutto rolls his eyes.

“No, no. The operatives at the warehouse recognised one of your attackers as having tried to rob them before, and your team was quick to vouch for your character. Everyone accepts you acted in self-defence and there’s no suspicion otherwise,” Prosciutto reassures him. “In fact, I’m here on a personal whim.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been tasked with the elimination of an important politician residing in Naples. I don’t usually carry out such orders myself, but when the stakes are high it’s usually best that I, as a stand user, step in personally. Even still, it’s best to have backup and frankly, all my usual contacts are either out of town or hapless fools I wouldn’t trust to water a houseplant,” Prosciutto explains.

“And you’re looking for new options, I presume,” Risotto deduces.

“Precisely,” Prosciutto nods. “Winning a three-on-one fight with one stand user is certainly an impressive feat. I was hoping to find you in better shape than this but I can afford to wait a month or two, so I won’t strike you off my options yet. I must say, Risotto, you look like you belong in this place even without the multitude of chest wounds, but I haven’t figured out if that makes me more or less appealed to you.”

“Charmed,” Risotto sighs. “What’s in it for me?”

“Well, they’re giving me 30 million lire for the job and it would only be fair for me to give you a cut. How does 5% sound?”

“10, at least,” Risotto contends. Prosciutto smirks and makes a little huff.

“You’re an eager bastard aren’t you. Done,” he concedes.

“What do you need from me?”

“I live across from the promenade. Number 23. If you’re in shape by the 3rd of December, come to me in the afternoon. I do my hits at night but there’ll be plenty to discuss, so make sure you’re there by 4 at the latest. I can give you the pay there and then but you’ll have to keep it on you until we’re done so you don’t try to leg it.”

“And is there anything in particular I should train myself for?” Risotto asks.

“Nothing in particular. You’re only there for backup so you might not even need to lift a finger. Really I’m giving you money for nothing,” Prosciutto remarks, standing up dignifiedly from his chair. “But making new connections can only help us both, don’t you agree?”

With a small parting smile, Prosciutto departs without awaiting his answer. Risotto is left alone with the beat of his heart monitor. He doesn’t know what to think of his new acquaintance yet, but an allegiance with a stand user could change everything. If Risotto were to gain status within Passione, would it finally fill the hole in his heart left by Domenico? He honestly doesn’t know.

::::::::::::

It’s the third of December, 1992, and Risotto is in good spirits. He worked hard to restore his health after his injuries, making a point of taking better care of himself and spending many hours working on his mobility. What Prosciutto has given him is a goal, and that’s something he hasn’t had since hunting Domenico’s killer. Now, when Risotto looks in the mirror, he sees resolution. He’s going to impress his new acquaintance if it kills him.

Risotto walks along the promenade counting the houses for number 23. It’s a fancy looking place, as he expected, made of sandstone with a twisted copper fence surrounding the upstairs balcony. He passes a grove of palm trees and knocks on the door. The answer is immediate.

“One moment, one moment,” Prosciutto calls impatiently. The smaller man opens the door and Risotto is struck by the smell of expensive cigarettes. “Sorry, do you mind?” Prosciutto asks, gesturing to the cigarette in his hand.

“Not at all,” Risotto assures him. “May I come in?”

Prosciutto walks wordlessly into the living room and Risotto gets the hint to follow. The pair sit down on a lavish settee. Risotto finds himself anxious in such an alien place to him.

“You live on Firenze street, close to the cinema, yes?” Prosciutto enquires.

“Yes. Piece of shit dump.”

“Tell me about it. I used to live just on the next road when I started out with my first squad,” Prosciutto reminisces. Risotto leans forward in surprise.

“You’re self-made?”

“More like… earned back,” Prosciutto clarifies. “Though for the record you’ll find most of my possessions here are cheaper than they look. I’m not nearly as rich as I was as a young man. Perhaps someday,” he hopes.

“When did you join Passione?” Risotto asks curiously.

“Three years ago. If you’d started just a few months earlier, we would have been neighbours,” he muses.

“And your stand?”

“Now that’s newer. I’ve had it for the best part of a year.”

Risotto taps his leg nervously.

“How did you do it? Move up the ranks so quickly?”

Prosciutto tuts.

“Wondering how you’re still stuck as Polpo’s postboy at the same point in your career I was lined up for a stand?” he asks cuttingly. Risotto chokes out a half-formed rebuttal, then looks down in shame. “A bit of luck, a bit of knowing the right people, and a lot of speaking bullshit,” Prosciutto answers. “It also doesn’t help that… you know…”

“You can say it. Everyone knows I’m an utter state and sometimes I legitimately impress people by waking up alive in the morning,” Risotto grumbles.

“Well, that’s one way to put it. If it’s any consolation you’re no worse than most at your level of the organisation. The problem comes when you want to move up,” Prosciutto takes another drag of the cigarette and leans back into the cushions. “You’re hardly a rare case. You thought Passione would be something it wasn’t for you and now you aren’t sure what you’re living for.”

“Did you… look into me?” Risotto asks defensively. Prosciutto shakes his head.

“Like I said, it’s a common story. I don’t really need to look into you to know.”

“It’s not entirely true,” Risotto protests. “I never really expected anything out of Passione. I just didn’t think I’d care what happened to me anymore. Sometimes I don’t, but it still hurts.”

“Shit parents?”

“No! Well, yes. But they weren’t the ones who raised me so it doesn’t matter. Someone… died, someone very close to me, and in avenging him I asked Passione to protect me. I had to join them of course, in exchange, but I didn’t mind. I thought I’d be at peace once I had my vengeance. I was wrong,” he says quietly. Prosciutto is quiet for a moment.

“Come on, let’s get ready to go.”

::::::::::::

It’s a cold night. Risotto is starting to regret volunteering to wait outside. His task is simple, watch the front door and shoot if the target tries to leave. He lives alone and the two guards have already been disposed of, so the job couldn’t be simpler. Risotto hopes the target really does try to run. It will make him feel like he had an actual purpose being here.

Even out here, Risotto can hear the scuffle inside. It’s a good thing they’re far from the city and there aren’t any neighbours nearby, but then again, does anyone living in Passione’s territory really still trust the police enough to call them?

After what feels like ages, the door falls open. Risotto aims his gun and prepares to seize his moment, only to find the stumbling target looks half-dead already as he collapses onto the porch. He fires a couple of shots anyway, just for good measure.

Prosciutto steps out. He kicks the body. Risotto starts to walk forward.

“No!” Prosciutto shouts. Risotto stops in his tracks. “Alright, you can come now,” Prosciutto permits him. Risotto steps forward uncertainly. “Apologies, my stand is indiscriminate so I can’t have you going near it. It’s gone now, so you’re safe. Come, come over here,” Prosciutto urges.

Risotto eyes the dead body in front of him. He is struck immediately by how old and shrivelled it seems- he could have sworn the politician was only in his early 60s.

“Is your stand… aging?” he asks.

“Well-guessed. It’s morbid, I know, but it does the job,” Prosciutto confirms. “You’re welcome to leave now. Cleaning up is a delicate process and it’s best I do it myself.”

“So this is it, I just go now?” Risotto says, a little disappointed.

“You have your money, don’t you? Now go, before someone drives by!” Prosciutto urges him. Risotto sulks away down the front path. “And Risotto?” he calls back. Risotto turns to listen to him. “I’ll be sure to give you a call if I ever need you again. You’ve impressed me, Risotto.”

The young man smiles. He nods in acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Prosciutto. I hope we can work again together soon.”

::::::::::::

It’s May, and Risotto is freshly 21. He finishes sweeping the floor of the kitchen and sits at the table, taking a sip of his coffee as he watches out the window. There’s a knock on the door.

“Hello?” Risotto says, opening it. The sight that greets him is a surprise- the familiar figure of Prosciutto Crepuscolo standing at his doorway.

“Apologies for the delay, I finally had an excuse to meet with you,” Prosciutto greets him. “May I come in?”

“By all means,” Risotto smiles. The two enter the apartment.

“You’re looking… better, Risotto,” Prosciutto notices. Risotto brushes his fingers through his hair.

“I wouldn’t say I’m doing well, but it’s a start,” he agrees. “So, what finally dragged you out here?”

“It’s possible I might have a position for you,” Prosciutto announces. Risotto perks up eagerly.

“Under you?”

“Over me,” Prosciutto corrects him.

“Now I’m intrigued.”

Prosciutto steeples his fingers and starts to explain.

“Passione is forming a new squad. Assassination, at long last. No more running around Naples for volunteers last minute. I’ve been chosen, no surprise, but I’ve made it very clear I refuse to be team leader. I have personal commitments. It wouldn’t be ideal. I’ve already got two others on the team with me, good men I’ve known for a while, but I’ve been told in no uncertain terms not to let either of them anywhere near positions of power. You on the other hand, my superiors are willing to consider.”

“I’m hardly qualified.”

“You’d be surprised how good an option you are. Being able to kill without a second thought is rare enough in itself, and on each of the few occasions your combat prowess has come into play, you’ve performed exceptionally. While it’s true you don’t have much experience as a leader, you’ve got all the hallmarks of someone who could be taught to be one. And you will be taught. I’ll be there to teach you.” Prosciutto assures him. He leans back in his seat. “There’s only one issue. We need to get you a stand.”

“I see. Can you get me put through for one?” Risotto asks.

“With your consent I can get you put through tomorrow. But I need you to be certain, Risotto, I need you to agree to lead us.”

Risotto takes a moment to think. He breathes deeply.

“I agree Prosciutto. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. It’s time we got you out of this dump.”

Risotto wakes the next morning to knocking on the door of his new bedroom. He sits up and takes a moment to regard the room around him, his mind planning already how he’s going to make it look once it’s concretely his. Really though, he’s just glad to have a space to himself now.

“Risotto it’s time to get up,” Prosciutto calls impatiently.

“I’m awake,” Risotto answers him. “Give me one minute and I’ll be dressed.”

Risotto hurries into his clothes and exits the room. Prosciutto is waiting for him, leaned against the wall. He regards Risotto with a nod.

“We aren’t expected at any particular time, but I’d rather we go sooner than later. Best to get it out of the way.”

“I’d prefer that too,” Risotto agrees. “Let me finish getting ready and we’ll head out.”

Prosciutto follows Risotto downstairs into the large front room. Risotto can tell Passione intends to grow this team beyond its current meagre size, else they wouldn’t get a house this big. At least he can enjoy the privacy while it lasts.

Down in the sitting room, two men look up from their sofa. They are entangled in each other, arms splayed lovingly over each other’s shoulders with little care who sees them. The smaller blond shuffles from his partner’s lap. He crosses his legs and looks at Risotto with wicked eyes.

“And who might this be, Pros? Our first victim?” he asks. The dark-haired man beside him presses his knuckles to his lips in a poor attempt to hide his malicious smile.

“This is Risotto Nero,” Prosciutto corrects him. “Should all go to plan, our leader.”

“What a young face,” the dark-haired man remarks.

“And so… uniquely dressed,” his partner adds. They pass a wicked glint between them.

“Risotto, this is Sorbet, and his husband Gelato,” Prosciutto introduces them, pointing to each. “The two recruits I mentioned earlier.”

“Recruits?” Sorbet asks, a hint of offense in his voice.

“We’ve been in the game far longer than you have, Prosci,” Gelato agrees.

“You both know what I mean,” Prosciutto sighs. He leads Risotto to the door and the pair get up after them. “Where on earth are you going?” he asks.

“We thought we might go with you, to… see our new friend off,” Sorbet explains.

“Very well, but no dawdling,” Prosciutto agrees.

The four pile into Prosciutto’s spotless Ford, the man himself taken the driver’s seat as Risotto sits behind him. Sorbet and Gelato jump eagerly into the back, gripping the seats in front of them and holding their faces way too close to Risotto for comfort.

“Now, you remember what to do?” Prosciutto checks.

“Yes,” Risotto assures him.

“My advice would be to find a street with no wind and stay there. Occupy yourself mentally, but don’t walk around or you’ll be asking for trouble,” Prosciutto advises.

“Thank you, Prosciutto, I’ll remember that. Any hope of you telling me how I’ll actually get the stand?” Risotto vies.

“Sorry, no chance. Just believe me when I say I have faith in you.”

“Very well,” Risotto accepts. He chuckles quietly.

Prosciutto drives just a few more minutes before stopping at the gates of a prison. He regards Risotto’s surprise with a reassuring pat to the shoulder.

“The guards will let you in, don’t worry. Go now, we have faith.”

Risotto thanks him with a smile and steps from the vehicle. A hand tugs his wrist. He turns to see Gelato holding onto him.

“Prosciutto’s going to tell me off for saying this, but drop the lighter. It’s what you’re actually meant to do.”

Unsure of what to say, Risotto shakes him off and carries on towards the gates. He hears the conversation behind him.

“Gelato, what on earth are you doing?!” Prosciutto chides.

“Giving him a faster death.”

::::::::::::

Risotto pushes against the arrow with all his might as it digs into his chest. He lets out a grunt of exasperation as he battles for his life, adamant in the resolution that he refuses to die today. He begins to hear screaming, passive at first and then steadily louder. It isn’t him, but it’s coming from within him. The iron grate by his side begins to twist and contort.

::::::::::::

“So, do you think he’s dead yet?” Sorbet says humourlessly. He checks his nails while caressing Gelato’s head in his lap.

“He’s going to be fine. I really don’t know why you have so little faith in him,” Prosciutto admonishes him. The pair chuckle.

“He’s just another dumb fuck dragged in from the gutter. There’s no way he could possibly survive obtaining a stand,” Gelato maintains.

“I’d like to see you say that to his face when he gets home alive,” Prosciutto tuts.

The front door clicks, the lock giving way on its own accord. The door swings open and Risotto Nero steps through, a cascading wave of metal swirling around his torso at his command. He reaches his hand into the iron dust and a shining blade is molded from the air. He presents it to Prosciutto proudly.

“Will this be adequate, Prosciutto?”

The older man stifles a laugh and looks over to the stunned lovers on the opposite sofa.

“My friends, I think it’s time you gave your new leader the greeting he deserves.”

#la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #risotto nero #l'inizio

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